


Violent Delights

by squigg_les



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ://, Angst, Everyone's gay, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Marco, Heavy drug usage, Lime, Lots of death later on, M/M, Sadness, Shakespeare, Suicide, Yes I Mean Everyone - Freeform, a fuck load of angst, a lot of making out, also she and Levi are married, bi jean, but Levi and Hanji are Marco's adopted parents, but it's for a good cause, detailed descriptions of suicide, except Levi and Hanji ahahaha plot twist y'all, female pronouns of Hanji, it's really complicated just read it, jean'a parents aren't canon characters, listen I'm a lesbian I'm not writing u little fricker frackers smut, obviously this is Romeo and Juliet so I mean, probably, romeo and juliet - Freeform, some homophobia, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 50,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squigg_les/pseuds/squigg_les
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two households, both alike in dignity,<br/>In fair Verona, where we lay our scene ... </p><p>Marco Bott Montague is a quiet kid. He keeps his head down at school, avoids getting into fights, and tries to keep his friends out of trouble. He's the adopted son of Levi Ackerman-Montague, after all; he's got to set an example. </p><p>Jean Kirstien Capulet is angry. His father and mother neglect him, and at age seventeen, they're already arranging a marriage for him. </p><p>The two meet and quickly become friends, which leads to other ... Things. This shouldn't be a problem, though. Nothing bad has ever happened when two people, namely from Montague and Capulet households, that have fallen in love. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paradise Circus

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this idea was generated after seeing the play at 2:00 AM so bear with me. 
> 
> Basically
> 
> Romeo and Juliet: Modern AU featuring the entire cast of Attack On Titan. 
> 
> Sound fun? Great! Let's get to it.

"Hey, can I see your chemistry homework?" 

The kid looked up. Jean said kid, but he looked just as old as Jean did, and they were most likely in the same grade. Still, his large brown eyes held some kind of warm innocence that made his square jawed face look younger. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and his upper cheeks. "Sure, I don't see why not." That warm voice had a slight accent that told Jean that this kid was from the south side. 

"Marco, right?" The kid nodded, passing a sheet of paper that looked like it had through a trash compactor over to him. "I'm Jean. Jesus, what'd you do to it?"

Marco laughed, no, giggled. His eyes scrunched up when he laughed. His smile made his face even more boyish. "Not me, my ... little sister. She's ten, and she somehow got it into her head to fold a thousand paper cranes." Jean snorted. "You can imagine."

Marco watched Jean take a pen from his backpack, and twirl it around in between his fingers. He had hair that was like the color of cookie dough. The undercut was a darker shade of brown. His nicely starched shirt and clean face told Marco that this was a rich kid. "D'you forget to do it, or were you absent?" He questioned softly. 

Jean glanced over at the kid. A friendly smile had tugged one side of his freckled cheek up. "Too busy. Family stuff."

"Ah. I won't pry." _Good,_ Jean thought, quickly copying down the homework assignment. 

"Thanks." He muttered, putting his own now-complete homework back into his binder. 

"Why'd you ask me?" Jean glanced over at Marco. 

"Why not?" 

"I've never talked to you before." Jean's eyes widened slightly, then rolled in their sockets. 

"Whatever." Now it was Marco's turn to look surprised. "I asked you because you're the only one who pays attention in class." 

"Oh." Marco looked down, embarrassed, at his paper. "Thanks." The bell rang, and Jean sighed, pulling his backpack up onto the bench to out his binder back in. "See you later?" Marco blurted. 

Jean looked up at him. There was a certain hopefulness that he couldn't quite resist in the boy's face. "Sure."

~•~

Saint Maria was almost a small town. By that, Marco meant it wasn't huge. On the other hand, it wasn't small enough that everyone knew each other by name, and even if that was an option, no one would try.

As of many towns, Saint Maria had a north end, and a south end. The north end was rich and classy; lots of shiny cars and champagne. This was due to the fact that the Capulets lived in the north end. The family was rich out of their minds, and this contributed to the economy on the north side. Everyone on the north side knew it, too, as the family had a very large following and loyalty. 

In the south side lived the Montagues. The Montagues were less of a family and more of a gang. No, a gang wasn't quite the right word; it implied violence and rough living. The Montigues were more like a family that surpassed blood. They only acted violently toward Capulets, and the Capulets always started it. 

Of course, The Montagues had started as a family, and when you got to the center of it, those blood lines were still there, controlling the whole community. Marco, for example, was a Montague. An adopted one, but one none the less. It said so on his left rib in tiny, black inked letters. 

Marco pulled a string of keys around his neck over it, found the house key, and unlocked his front door. It was a one story house, with an extremely clean white carpet and perfectly painted yellow walls. There wasn't a fleck of dust in the entire house. This could only be expected, seeing as he lived with none of other than ...

"Hanji? What the hell did you do with my jacket?" 

... The leader of the Montagues. 

Levi Ackerman Montague was a short man with a youthful face, a face that was now scowling down at Marco. "Don't just stand there in the doorway gawking. You'll let dust in."

Marco smiled gently and closed the door with a click. "Sorry, Levi." 

"Never mind that." Levi straightened his starched clean shirt. "Did you see that damned woman on your way back here?"

"Sometimes I'm not sure you remember that that 'damned woman' is married to you." 

"I don't care. She took my fucking jacket. I need that jacket." Levi stalked down the hall. It was a little bit hard to take him serious when he wasn't wearing any shoes; even the man's socks were perfectly clean; how the hell did he pull that off? Marco put the thought from his head and removed his shoes, before heading toward his room. In a few hours, Hanji come home, Levi's jacket would be dirty, and Levi would be angry for her, but not for too long. Hanji was the one person that Levi couldn't hold a grudge against. That was probably why he'd married her. 

Marco didn't actually have a sister. The person who had fucked his homework over so bad had been Eren Jaeger, a friend of his. 

Who's blonde counterpart was sitting on Marco's bed. 

Armin placed a finger over his lips as Marco opened his mouth. "I need you help," he breathed. His bright blue eyes were open wide, and Marco noticed the shiny slug-like trail of a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. He'd been running, and Armin always took the bus. Marco sighed, and Armin gestured for the window. 

Two minutes later, the two were running down the alley behind Marco's house. "Eren's in another fight, isn't he." Marco stated. Armin nodded.

"I'm sorry to pull you into this, but you're the only one who can calm him down besides Mikasa, and I have no idea where-"

"It's not a problem." Armin sighed in relief. 

"Up by the football field, right?" Armin nodded, but as they rounded the corner, the two nearly slammed into a large group of teenagers. 

Mikasa was dragging a bloodied Eren Jaeger by the collar. She was closely followed by Ymir, who smelled like pot, and Historia, who was clinging to her. "Oh, good. You got there first." Armin murmured. "Where the hell were you?" 

"Nowhere." Mikasa said stoically. She adjusted the red scarf around her neck with her free hand. 

"She was at Annie's house," Ymir guffawed. She held up two fingers on each hand and proceeded to smash them together. 

"Shut up, you're high as balls."

"Hah, yeah I am." 

A faint yell echoed the air and Historia's eyes widened. "We'd better go. They're gonna catch up to us." Armin nodded and Mikasa adjusted her grip on Eren. Marco stared down at the kid. His nose was bleeding all over his shirt and his leg looked a little torn up. He looked like someone had taken a sledge hammer to him.

"Pretty badass looking, right?" Eren commented in a thick voice as they began to walk again. Mikasa glared down him. 

"You do these things just to look cool, don't you." Marco muttered under his breath. 

"Huh? No. _That_ would be out of character." Armin giggled, and Eren lent him a happy glance, which looked terrifying because his face was covered in blood. 

"Hey! Fucker!" That was a familiar voice. The pack turned. "How dare you run away from me?" 

"Connie, let's go back." 

A tiny kid rounded the corner. _He's barely Levi's height,_ Marco thought as he strode forward, closely followed by a girl in a maid outfit. Her auburn hair was tied up, and she totted a huge bag of Hot Cheetos behind her as she chased after the tiny kid. 

"You!" Tiny pointed at Eren dramatically. "What kind of asshole runs away from a fight?" 

Cheeto Maid promptly kicked him in the back of the knee, and he fell to the ground. "What the fuck, Sasha?!" He snapped at her. 

"He's had enough. Look at him." Looking at Tiny, he didn't look too great either. There was a gash on his forehead and blood ran down his cheek. His shirt was rumpled and dirty, and there was a slight limp in his walk. Tiny's eyes flitted across the group, before falling on Marco. Then they narrowed in disgust. 

Marco swallowed and stepped forward. "I'd like to apologize for my friend. He's rather ... Well, hot headed."

Eren glared over his shoulder. "Fuck off!" The words were slurred slightly and Mikasa groaned quietly. 

"I couldn't care less what you have to say, Montague." Tiny spat the word out like a curse. Marco pursed his lips.

_How easy would his life be if Capulets and Montagues didn't hate each other._


	2. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two nerds talk a bit more, chaos breaks out in the Montague household, and a smol, tiny bit of Ereri happens 
> 
> To make this fic actually work the way I want it to, I'm going to have to suspend the plot for some time so that Marco and Jean can properly fall in love. Sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPE YALL ARE READY BECAUSE ITS ABOUT TO GET GAY UP IN HERE

"Jean, how are you?" A breathless voice asked from behind him. He turned to see Sasha, the housekeeper, doubled over and red faced from breathlessness. 

He pulled one ear bud out. "You ... alright there, Sasha?" 

"Sure, I just ...." She gulped in as Connie stalked across both their paths. He had a large bruise on the side of his forehead and another adorned his jaw. "Connie got in another ..."

"I hate you," he snapped sullenly at the wheezing housekeeper. 

"No, you don't." 

"Yes, I-I do!" The two stared at each other for a few moments, and Jean rolled his eyes. 

"I'll be in my room if anyone needs me." He slung his backpack further up his shoulder and proceeded up the stairs. 

Jean's house, in comparison to Marco's, was humungous. It was not nearly as clean, of course, the servants could only do so much with three floors. The walls were mostly covered with ugly old wallpaper that Father insisted on maintaining but not removing. The floors were made of dark burgundy, and so were the banisters. Jean trudged up the steps to the second floor, thinking cryptically for the seventh time this week that they should install an elevator. 

During the month of May, the steady flow of homework they'd been receiving began to dwindle slightly as the teachers began to give up entirely for the year. Jean did was little he had, and then flopped onto his bed, opening up his laptop. He opened a private browser, and -

"Jean?" He looked up a bit too quickly, and Sasha quirked an eyebrow. "Watcha' doin' over there?" 

"Nothing. What is it?" 

"Your father wants to see you in his study." Jean sighed, closed his laptop, (and the tab) before sliding it under his sheets. 

"Sasha." 

"Hmm?" 

"There's Cheeto dust on your cheek."

"Oh!" She wiped it off quickly. "Thanks, Jean." Another servant rounded the corner. "I mean, Sir. Go!" She hissed, pushing him forward.

 _What kind of housekeeper can't even keep themselves clean?_ Jean thought, round the corner to face yet another flight of stairs, which he tromped up, wishing once again for an elevator. He arrive by the doors with burning thighs and calves.

He knocked. 

"Come in."

The door creaked open to reveal a large room, with huge windows that allowed Jean's father to gaze over the grounds like a living gargoyle. The walls, unlike the rest of the house, were red. Deep red, the color of velvet. 

"You called for me, Father." Jean bit back his usual tone of vague annoyance. 

His father was a tall man with tauny hair that was often swept back into a pony tail. His eyes, unlike Jean's, were blue. Jean had grown to dislike blue eyes. His father's were like tiny shards of glass, always cutting.

"Me and your mother have been thinking about ..." And Jean's stomach muscles clenched because he knew exactly where this was going, " ... your marriage." 

Of course. Marrying off your children seemed ridiculous to most families, but in many rich homes, the practice lived on. Jean had known his whole life that he would eventually be married off to some girl that he didn't particularly like, and he'd accepted it as fact. It wasn't fair, that was true, but there was no escaping. 

"We're considering ..." His father went on to list about ten women whom Jean had never heard of and who's names and credentials immediately slipped from his mind. "I expect you to meet all of them soon enough."

"Yes, Father. Is that all?"

"Yes. You may go." 

Jean clenched his jaw and spun in his heel. He closed the door, probably more forcibly that necessary. His father's lack of ... well, _paternity_ had always annoyed him, as did his mother lack of presence. There she was now, coming up the stairs in a reverse of Jean. She murmured a vague greeting as she passed, and Jean couldn't help but roll his eyes. Mother had but a ghost of a personality. She'd always been that way. 

Soon, he would have to be married.

All of a sudden, the huge house felt suffocating. 

"Sasha, I'm going out." Jean tugged a coat from the rack in his room, and ran back down the stairs. 

"But you only just off back-" He closed the front door with a slam and stalked down their long driveway. He didn't see the need to take his car, it was far too shiny and stood out like a nose when he drove through the south end of town. Besides, the place he wanted to go was just a few miles out.

~•~

"No, you cannot crash at my place!" Marco's voice always got high-pitched when he was alarmed or afraid, and he hated it. 

Eren scowled. "How come?"

"You know exactly why," Mikasa intoned. "Now hold still." Armin was tending the wounds on Eren's leg. 

"It was just a misunderstanding. Besides, Ymir spiked my drink with something; I wasn't thinking straight."

"Hell yeah, you weren't thinking 'straight', _you tried to make out with Levi!"_

Eren groaned. "It was an accident! I thought he someone else." 

"He still won't let you into our house, Eren." Marco's phone vibrated, and he felt a familiar buzz of anxiety wash over him as Hanji's name appeared as the called ID. He answered, cringing. 

"Hello?"

"Marco? Where are you? Levi's angry with me. You. Me? He's angry." There was a muffled yell in the distance. "See, I needed a jacket because it was cold, but then I accidentally spilled highly-concentrated sulphuric acid all over it, and-" 

"Is that Marco?" came a low voice in the background. Marco winced. 

"Should I come home now? I had to help a friend with a ... thing, but I think-"

"Pretend your phone ran out of battery, and no, you probably shouldn't come home right now." There was a peel of laughter, and a rumpling noise as something slid over the phone speaker on the other end.

"Hanji?" Marco asked, alarmed. 

"Hanji, gimme the phone!" Levi snarled in the background. "Don't- don't hold it over your head, you absolutely -" 

There was a loud beep and the call ended. 

Silence filled the room, and then Armin whispered, "That sounded intense." 

"Yeah. Um, my house might not be the safest place right now." If he knew Hanji and Levi at all, Levi had probably taken the phone from her, and she was chasing him around the house in an attempt to reclaim it. Then, once Levi called Marco, and he ignored it, (Hanji would cover for him) he would yell at her and she would laugh the whole way through and then kiss him all over his face as he complained loudly. Yes, the Montague household was not particularly functional, but Marco wouldn't trade it for anything. 

"You know, we can probably take Eren to my house for the time being," Armin intoned thoughtfully. Eren nodded. 

"What if your grandfather comes home, though?" 

Armin shook his head. "He's working the late shift today. We'll be fine. Marco, joining us?"

"I don't think so, I'd rather stay close to home. I think I'm gonna head over to The Scout." 

"Don't get in trouble," Mikasa told him quietly. 

Eren rolled his eyes. "Can you imagine Marco getting in an actual fight, Mikasa?" She only shrugged, and gave the freckled boy a long look that he couldn't quite read. 

~•~

Jean opened the doors to The Scout, and his ears were immediately assaulted by the loud sound of arguing. 

The Scout was a small restaurant, with a 50's vibe to it. The counters were made of sleek silver aluminum. Empty glasses hung, glittering, in the back. The business had opened here about six years ago, and Jean was moderately sure that the shop owner had known nothing of the people in Saint Maria before she'd built here, because some how, she'd managed to place a restaurant directly between the ground of the Montagues and the Capulets. 

Needless to say, it was a bit chaotic. 

Jean eased himself one of the padded, spinning bar stools by the counter and ordered himself a carmel milkshake. It was a seasonal special, according to the board up front with all of the drinks listed. That was strange, he thought, carmel didn't seem very 'May' to him. 

Someone sat, no, more like slumped down next to him. Jean didn't give the figure a second glance until about five minutes later, when it opened its mouth and a familiar voice rang out; "Minimum wage burger with fries, please."

"Marco?" The figure glanced to the side, and his face split open into a wide grin. 

"Hey, Jean! Fancy -" there was a loud yell of annoyance from behind him. "Fancy seeing you here," he continued, a bit less confidently. 

Jean snorted. "Something scare you?" There was a drop of sarcasm in his voice. 

"Well, just-" the conversation behind them kicked back up again, as loud as ever, and Marco flinched. "Oh, shut up," he muttered as Jean snorted again. "Look, once I got hit in the back of the head with a glass of beer, alright? It makes a guy flighty."

"No, no, I get it, it's," the waitress behind the counter (who looked exhausted, and Jean couldn't blame her), set down his drink, "it's fine." He took of a long sip of milkshake. It wasn't just carmel, it was salted carmel. He'd never thought of "salty milkshake" as something he would want to put in his mouth, but this one hit the spot. 

"Hey, what electives do you have?" Marco asked suddenly. Behind him, a burly-looking waiter had begun to explain to the guys behind them that if they continued to be a disruption, they would be asked to leave. Marco glanced back and his eye widened as he spied a mixed groups on Montagues and Capulets. _So that's what happens when you put them together,_ he thought. 

"I had PE last this semester, so this year I'm stuck with visual art." 

"Not an art person?" The tired waitress slid a plate with the counter, and Jean saw Marco's face brighten as his dark eyes landed on the hamburger it served. 

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" Marco was wolfing down the burger like he hadn't eaten in a month. 

"It's an easy A," Marco mumbled around a mouthful of food. It came out as "Iss a eessee ayy," and he had to resist laughing at himself to prevent his cheeks from exploding everywhere. 

"What-what was that again? Could you repeat that?" Jean intoned. He was grinning; he couldn't help it. It was hard not grin around Marco. 

"I said," Marco swallowed, "it's an easy-"

"Marco?" A distinctly feminine voice pierced through the air, and both of the boys glanced toward the source. "Sorry to bother you but you left your phone, and it's been going off non-stop." 

Mikasa Ackerman placed the device next to Marco's plate. "Eren's leg wasn't messed up too bad, thankfully." She nodded toward Jean, who was staring at her. Marco's stomach did something weird and twisty. "Who's this?"

"Oh, that's Jean ..."

 _Capulet_ , Jean opened his mouth to say, but stopped. _Don't. They're from the south side._

_They'll hate you._

"Kirshtien," he answered smoothly, a confident grin about his mouth. Marco raised his eyebrows. "And who might you be?" 

Mikasa was already gone. 

"Shit." Jean stared after her as the door swung closed behind her. "Who was that?" His posture slumped against the counter. His brown eyes were suddenly wide with longing. "And how do you know her?" His eyes suddenly widened. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Marco threw his head back and laughed. "You think I'm in _Mikasa Ackerman's_ league?" Jean was still staring at him. "I'm-I'm not." 

"Is that _Eren_ guy she mentioned her boyfriend?" 

"Nah, that's her crazy kid brother. You're not trying to ... Get with her, are you ...?" The happy little glimmer in Jean's eyes said they definitely were. The corner of his mouth had twitched upward into a tiny boyish grin.

Marco's heart sank. _Oh no, he's cute._

Marco's phone began to ring again, and he shut the ringer off with a flick of his finger. 

Jean raised an eyebrow, casually sipping his milkshake. "What's ... Going on there?" 

"Oh, my Dad," it had never felt natural to call Levi 'Dad' or even just 'his father' and Marco wasn't entirely sure why he was doing it now. "he, well, I did, I guess, uhm." Marco was flushed, Jean realized. The tops of his freckles cheeks had become rosy, and his ears as well. "My friend, Eren, got into a fight, so my other friend needed me to help fish him out, because apparently I'm good at calming people down- " someone at a table to their right slammed their cup down and Marco flinched. 

"Yeah, I'm seeing it, you seem like a very relaxed, calming person." 

"Oh, hush," Marco giggled. It seemed too girlish a sound to have come from him. The freckled boy shoved seven french fries at a time into his mouth. Ketchup painted the corner of his bottom lip. "Anyway, I snuck out of the house, and then my ..." If calling Levi 'Dad' felt awkward, then calling Hanji 'Mom' felt physically difficult. "My mom called me, and she's ... Well, I'm not quite sure what she was doing, she's very, uh, _eccentric._ Anyway, she told me not to come home any time soon so, and now I'm here."

Jean had reached the bottom half of his milkshake. He sighed then, and glanced at Marco from the side. "You're not very good at talking to people." 

"Wha-huh?" Jean nodded toward his as if to say, _'there you go.'_ Marco felt heat rush to his head again. The exhausted waitress wordlessly took his money with the bill. 

"Do you come here a lot?" Marco asked off hand.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Damn it, Jean, no. I was just wondering. I've never seen you here before." 

"You still sound like you're flirting." Marco laughed in spite of himself. Jean felt like joining in for some strange reason. Marco's happiness was contagious, he was coming to realize this, and Jean felt better than he had all night. Then he thought of the answer to the question and his mood darkened, just a bit. 

"I usually come here to blow off steam, actually," Jean answered. Marco glanced at him. His creamy brown eyes were distant, suddenly. "My dad, well," he glanced at the cellphone in the counter, "you know how fathers can be." 

Marco nodded empathetically as the waitress returned with his bill. "Thanks," he smiled at the waitress, who only nodded. "Well, I'd better get going."

"You'll be ... Fine, or whatever, right?" Jean asked quietly. Marco raised an eyebrow. "I mean, your dad won't ..." He flicked a piece of ash-blonde hair from his forehead. It was darker at the sides where it was shaved down close to his head, and all of a sudden, a familiar, dooming feeling blossomed in Marco's chest. 

"Your dad won't rough you up, or anything, right?" That snapped him out of it pretty quickly. "I mean, he's called you, like, three times in the last twenty minu- " 

Marco snorted. "No, no, he's nothing like that." Levi was a lot of things, but the tiny man loved his family, though he barely displayed it. "He might make me dust the whole house, but, no, I'll be fine." 

Jean raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. "Alright. See you around." Marco gave a tiny wave in response, and exited the restaurant. Jean watch him go.


	3. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean being a flirt, Marco covering for Mikasa, me being a meme trash peice of shit

"Wars are stupid," Armin murmured the next day at lunch. "Why can't we have world peace? I want world peace." A bruise had blossomed on his jaw. He's been stopped by a group of Capulets on his way to school, and though he was the gentle one of the group, they'd stolen his lunch money and given him a hit for good measure. Marco tore his ham and cheese sandwich in half and handed the tiny blonde boy the bigger half. Armin's blue eyes widened. "Thanks, Marco." 

"No problem." 

Eren looked like a sack of shit today. Mikasa explained this morning that she'd offered to cover the incredibly dark circles under his eyes with her makeup (Marco hadn't even known she was wearing makeup, she must have done it pretty damn well) but as predicted, Eren had brushed her off, muttering some excuse for how he wanted to look tough. _He didn't look tough,_ Marco observed as he peeled the wrapped off of a Poptart, _he looked like he'd been run over by a freight train._ Marco glanced down at the table, and realized with a rush of familiarity, that freckles had begun to creep down his arms, as they always did in the summer. Most white people either tanned, burned, or became freckle-y. Marco had found that he did all three. 

Mikasa tapped Marco on the shoulder, then tapped her paper with the blue ballpoint pen she'd been writing with. "Did you do the homework?" She asked monotonously. "I'm have trouble with it." Despite Mikasa being a sophomore and Marco being a junior , they had been placed in the same math class. Marco was taking advanced classes at well, which meant that Mikasa was two years ahead of her grade and Marco was only one. He nodded, and scribbled some nonsense he barely understood himself down onto the paper. Still her face seemed to relax slightly. "Oh. Thank you, I understand now."

"Hey, Marco!" A hand slid into his hair and ruffled it. Marco flinched, and a familiar laugh echoed over his head. 

"Who're you?" Eren snapped. Armin's eyes had narrowed slightly, his thin fingers flitting up to the bruise on his jaw. 

"Who're _you?_ " Marco grimaced. 

"Eren, lay off, he's my friend." 

"Since when are you friends with rich Capulet looking fucks like-" 

"Eren." Mikasa looked up from her math assignment. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously. "He said to lay off." Eren's mouth seemed to shut without his consent, and he glared at Mikasa, who met it with a stoic gaze that was much scarier than Eren could ever hope to be. 

Jean slid into the seat next to her. His tawny hair had been combed over one side of his head, and for some reason, Marco found himself admiring how clean the shave on the side of his head was. "Mikasa, right?" She gave Jean a side long glance. "We met last night. I'm-"

"Jean. I remember." 

Jean's face lit up. "You remember me! I was wondering-"

"I have to go. My notebook's in my locker and pre-cal is all the way across the building." With that, she stood up and left. Jean rose slightly, as if to follow her, but she had disappeared into the mass of students in the middle of the cafeteria before he could get up completely. 

"Don't try to follow her," Armin advised Jean. His wide blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "You won't be able to find her unless she wants to be found."

Eren had been completely speechless up until now, when he burst out, "Are you flirting with my sister?"

Jean's cheeks flushed, just a little. "S-so what if I am?"

"You can't flirt with my sister!" 

"How come? It's a free country!" 

The incredulous look on Eren's face said that he was about to spill something that Marco wasn't quite prepared for at the moment. If Jean found out that Mikasa was gay, he'd loose interest in the friend group, meaning Marco wouldn't get to see him any more. _Besides,_ he told himself, tearing his sandwich in half yet again, 

"You know Mikasa's-" Marco shoved the sandwich half into Eren's mouth to cut off the stream of words. Eren stared at Marco in absolute disgust, and made a muffle noise that sounded a little bit like, "fuck you."

"Hey, guys!" Marco turned to see Ymir barreling toward them. Her eyes were wide and looked a bit maniacal. There was only two things Marco knew of that made Ymir get excited like that: when Historia did something cute, and when-

"There's a fight by the football field!" 

Eren's eyes lit up."Wha-"

"It's between Thomas and Reiner." 

Armin sat straight. "Oh shit," Marco hear him whisper, before he slid out from his seat and dashed out of the cafeteria. 

Marco caught up to him quickly enough. "What that you said about world peace, earlier?" 

"Oh, shut up. Thomas is the one to took my money." _Oh. Well, that explained it._ From what Marco knew of, Armin wasn't into violence, but he was prideful at the same time. If anyone insulted him, his friends, or his grandfather, he became quite bitter. Marco wasn't the type to hold grudges, but Armin certainly was. Seeing Thomas getting the shit kicked out of him probably wouldn't hurt. 

There was already a thin crowd of students around the corner of the field when Marco and Armin arrived, closely followed by a limping Eren and a Mikasa who looked extremely done with Eren's shit. (No Jean, Marco noticed.) Eren's reckless tendencies had driven his sister to become quite over protective. One time, she'd spent the night away at a friend's house, and Eren had almost burned down their house and somehow fallen down a well in his attempts to get away from the fire. Now she practically never took her eyes off of him. _Except for when she's with Annie,_ Marco thought skeptically. 

Armin reached the outer regions of the crowd of teenagers and began to slip in and out of groups of friends, weaving his way to the front. Marco, being much larger and hardly as flexible, pushed after him, apologizing as he jostled the people around him. 

Thomas was, in fact, getting his ass, his whole ass, and nothing but his ass handed to him. _On a silver platter._ Reiner stood what looked like a foot taller than him, and it appeared that the shorter of the two hadn't landed a single hit on him. Thomas, on the other hand, looked worse than Eren had the day before. Marco didn't even want to go into detail. 

" _There_ he is!" Armin's eyes widened in fear as Reiner's eyes locked onto him. He strode toward the tiny blond, who looked rooted to the spot with fear. Marco stepped forward and rested a hand on Armin's shoulder; even so, he knew that if Armin's idea about Reiner's intentions were correct, that he certainly wouldn't stand a chance against the oxe-like boy. 

But Reiner pulled Armin into a tight hug to his chest. The smaller boy squeaked. "Do you need a lunch?" Reiner asked. "I have extra money, if you nead any." The smears of blood on his fists said angered psycho, the looks of him said football player who took steroids for breakfast, but his voice said concerned mother.

"M-Marco gave m-me a b-b-bit of his-s," Armin managed to stutter. 

Reiner's grateful gaze fell upon Marco. "Thanks, man." Then he turned back to Thomas, who was trying to keep the blood dripping from his nose from dripping onto his shirt. "Don't talk to me or my son every again," he yelled. 

Someone laughed and someone else began to applaud, but before it could spread, a scream echoed the ought the crowd. 

"SECURITY!"

It was like a switch had been flicked, because for a second no one moved. It didn't really feel like freezing up, it felt (to Marco) as if he was a computer that had been given a large file that desperately needed processing. Everyone stood still, just for a second. 

Then, of course, there was chaos.

Armin wriggled free of Reiner's grasp and dashed away. Panic captured Marco in a choke hold and he sprinted aimlessly after his friend. This sent him barreling toward the portables. He could heard the exhilarated screams of adrenaline-high teenagers fading behind him as he reached them. There were three portables, one of them connected to the school with a short sky bridge. Marco had always wondered why they'd bothered with a sky bridge that small and hadn't just boarded up the walls and made the thing into a hall. Now, he scrambled around the edge of the building to position himself away out the line of sight of anyone by the field. Even so, he heard loud footsteps approaching him from the direction of the field. They were too spaced out to be someone running, they were too heavy to be Armin's. 

Marco dashed around the side of the portable and slammed into Jean. 

" _Shitfuck_ \- Marco?" 

"You alright there?" 

Jean shook his head, "No time to talk. Someone's coming around the side, we gotta- what?" 

Marco's eyes had widened in panic. "Someone's coming around my side, too." 

"Oh, _shit_." Jean bit his bottom lip, and despite the current situation, Marco felt his heart flutter. "Wait. Here." Jean laced his fingers together. "Onto the roof." Without thinking, Marco placed his foot into the crutch made of Jean's fingers, and latched onto the edge of the roof. He pushed himself up and onto the the top of the building without much difficulty. 

"Here, come on." Jean grabbed the hand he extended and Marco gritted his teeth, before hauling the other boy up. Jean's knees hit the roof just as the two teachers rounded each corner. Jean tried to move, but Marco pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide with urgency. Jean frowned, and Marco shook his head. _Don't move a muscle_. 

"Oh, it must have been you I heard, Gregory."

"Sorry about that, Shannon." The two laughed, and Jean, now alerted of how tedious the situation was, slowly moved his feet, which hung over the edge of the roof. 

_They're going to leave now,_ Marco willed. _They'll go find the other kids._

"Do you know who started the fight this time?" _God, why._

__Jean stood up very carefully. His clothing shifting made a slight slithering noise, but neither of the teachers looked up. As quietly as they could, the two boys crept across the roof._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay  
> Just  
> *heavy breathing*  
> what the FUCK ISAYAMA  
> AAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
> MY BABY DIDNT DESERVE THIS FML 
> 
> (The manga just updated ignore me I jUST)


	4. Tenue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gays are very very gay. But on a roof this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. I haven't been writing a lot lately, and that's unfortunately thanks to the tragity in Orlando last week. It fucked me up pretty bad, but I'm bouncing back now, so expect regular updates again. Sorry about the wait.

"How long should we stay up here, d'you think?" 

Marco shrugged. "Until lunch ends, I guess. Did you go finish yours? I probably have _something_ on me, if you're hungry."

"No, I'm alright." Jean's eyes fell to Marco's face. The other boy's eyes were lulled to half-mass, and a tiny smile played across his lips. The sun hit his face, making his tan skin glow with warmth. "Marco?"

"Mm?" 

"How the _hell_ did you manage to pull me up onto the building?" Marco burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking over to where the teachers had been, all the way across the roof. "I'm serious. I probably couldn't lift a fuckin' cat up like that."

"My dad makes me take ... kickboxing." This was a lie. Levi started training Marco in French martial arts when he'd turned 9. He wasn't exactly ripped now, but the upper body strength was great, and came in handy once and a while. "The neighborhood, well, it isn't _too bad_ , I guess. Better safe than sorry, though." 

Jean nodded like he understood, which, Marco realized with a spike of bitter humor, he certainly didn't. "You live in the north side, right?" Jean nodded. "Is it nice there?" 

"Haven't you ever been?"

"Well, yeah, but ..." Marco shrugged, his mind blank of excuses. "Not in a while." 

"Well, it's big." Jean leaned back on his hands. A gust of wind washed over them and its fingers dragged themselves through Jean's tawny hair. "Not very friendly. I guess it might now be as ... rough, as where you live, but ... I dunno. Montagues always seem more like a family than Capulets."

"W-what makes you think I'm a Montague?" Marco stammered. He wasn't sure why, but some panicked part of him knew that Jean, a north side kid, would remember the countless brawls that had always ended in deaths on both sides. Marco didn't want Jean to look at him like he was a murderer, but murderer was one of the #1 insults thrown between sides. 

"I never said you were," Jean reproached, "but," he added with a snicker, "I mean, if you insist ..."

They were silent for a few minutes. The breeze was stronger on the roof that on the ground level, and Jean liked it. It was rather hot in Saint Maria this year, (probably thanks to global warming) and the small puffs of air were rather refreshing. A thin sheen of sweat had collected all over Jean's body during the day due to the heat. The wind cooled him thoroughly. 

The bell rang out and Jean's mood soured. "We'd better get to fifth period." Marco didn't reply. "Marco?" He leaned over to look at the other big and laughed aloud. 

Marco was alseep. His lids twitched as Jean shook him, and he emitted a soft moan. Jean's chest fluttered. He frowned, ignored it, and murmured again, "Marco. Get up."

"Mmm-I don't wanna." Marco's voice was grumpily. 

"You fell asleep while sitting up, is that even possible?"

"My dad made me clean the whole house last night. I guess it hadn't caught up to me until now." Marco leaned against Jean, who's chest did the fluttering thing again. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken that 5 Hour Energy this morning; he'd heard it could affect one's pulse. 

Jean didn't really want Marco to stop leaning on him, but he also didn't want to miss class. "Come on, get up. Lunch is over." 

Marco shook his head. "Mm tired. Mm gonna stay up here fr' a little." 

"Well, I've got to go." Jean shifted away, but Marco immediately latched onto his arm and pulled him back. His freckled cheek squished itself against Jean. 

"Stay for a while," Marco muttered against his arm. The kid looked tired out of him mind, but Jean needed to straighten _his sexuali-_ his priorities and Marco _wasn't going to sway him._

"I'm going to fail if I miss class."

Marco looked at him with deluded but still present mind. "If you stay up here and let me use you as crutch until I wake up fully, and I'll make sure you pass." Jean must have looked hesitant, because he added quickly, "I took algebra two last year, and the lowest grade I got was a B-." 

_Damn it._ Jean sighed and slumped. Marco made a happy noise in the back of his throat and rested a bit more of his weight on his human crutch. "I expect you to help me study because of this."

"Of course."

"Today, after school." 

"Alright. Where?" 

Jean considered for a moment. The library and study seemed the most obvious choices, but the supervisors of those areas seemed to have completely given up on everything (even more so that the staff distributed across the rest of the school) and no actual administration ever took place. This created an extremely chaotic environment that was nearly impossible to learn anything in. 

"There's a Starbucks pretty close to the center of town. We could go there," Marco suggest. A cloud swept over the sun, decreasing the heat by a tad. "It'll probably be pretty crowded, but it isn't too loud." 

"Alright." A gust of air hit the roof. It wasn't as pleasant this time; the tiny temperature change due to the sun had erased Jean's need of the breeze and he shivered when this gust hit him. "So, you're in AP classes?" 

"Mmm. So is Mikasa. And Armin. They're both border-line geniuses." Jean nodded; they'd booth seemed the type. "You like her, don't you."

"H-huh?" 

"Mikasa. You like her, right?" Jean glanced away, his cheeks flushing just slightly. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I don't blame you. She's gorgeous." Jean shot him a look, which he ignored. "Her brother's a bit of a pain."

Jean barked a laugh. "You're telling me. What's with that kid?" 

"Beats me." Marco snorted as a memory surfaced. "This one time, he rode his bike off of the roof of his house. He tried to get it onto the trampoline."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, but the whole thing split in half. He broke both of his hands. I dunno how his mother deals."

"Jesus." 

"Right?" 

Jean was silent for a few moments, attracting the other boy's eye. Marco had to appreciate the pure aesthetic of him; the top button of his starched white shirt was undone, his hazel eyes were at half mass, and as the cloud that had been blown over the sun retreated, the sunlight brushed over his messy hair, making the tips shine golden. 

That was when Marco knew. 

_I have a stupid crush on this stupid straight boy._

_And I'm leaning my entire body weight against him._

Marco sat back up straight. "You awake?" Jean asked. "Can we go back to-" 

"Mmm, I don't wanna." 

Jean sat forward and started him incredulously. Marco stared right back. His brown eyes held contact with Jean's until the other boy had to look away. "You didn't seem like the class skipping type to me, kid," Jean said.

"I don't like the class I have next. And who are you calling kid? I'm in the same year as you."


	5. April Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikannie+Marco and then Ymir and Christa because I love yuri and I hate yall

Marco had known he was gay for about five years. The striking realization had hit him when he was dared to kiss Christa. They'd both felt like throwing up afterward. As his friends matured and began to talk constantly of the girls in their classes, Marco noticed his friends themselves. His first crush (long dead now) had been Bertholdt, a quiet, dark haired boy in the grade above him. He's had lots more in the past five years, and if he liked Jean, it certainly wasn't a big deal. The guy was obviously straight, and Marco could control himself.

"Jean?" Marco pushed his way through the crowd of student rushing through the halls. The hallways were all divided in half; the kids on Marco's right swarmed the opposite way. Their excited laughter echoed through the halls. Marco gritted his teeth against the overwhelming noise. 

Jean's last class was art, and it was all the way across campus from Marco's PE class. He wiped at the thin sheen of sweat that remained on his forehead; running on the football field was no fun in May. 

He sighed in relief as the door to the art room came into sight. The room stood out from all the others. About ten years back, the freshmen had splatter painted the entire door, including a large portion the hall around it. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but the door looked less like an art project and more like it had been attacked by How To Basic. 

"Jean?" He pushed the door open, and stepped into the class. Immediately, he knew Jean wasn't here. For one, the classroom was dark, and it only contained two people. Neither of those people were Jean. Marco felt every spare drop of blood in his body rush to his head as Mikasa untangled her legs from Annie's waist, her dark eyes widening when they spied Marco. There was red lipstick on her cheek and jaw. 

"S-sorr-fuck-k-ing-" Marco stumbled backward. Annie whirled around. She was strikingly beautiful; her petite cheeks were flushed, white blonde hair had been clawed into disarray and her bright blue eyes were narrowed at him. 

"Bott, right?" She had a low, raspy voice. Mikasa was still sitting on one of the desks, and Annie had been-was standing- right between her legs. Annie's shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to her solar plexus, and Marco's eyes avoided the black strap of her bra across her chest with all he had. 

"Y-yeah- I'm s-s-so-"

"Not a word, d'you hear me?" Marco nodded as quickly as he could, not trusting himself to be able to form an articulate sentence. "Great. Get out."

Marco didn't have to be told twice. 

He slammed the door to the room and leaned his back against it, then jumped as, "Marco!", Jean rounded the corner. 

"Oh! Jean, h-hey!" Marco's face felt very, very hot. He pressed his back to the door, and found that he still had the doorknob in an iron grip.

Jean's eyebrow twitched. "You hiding something in there? Drugs?"

"That b-because I'm from the s-south?" Marco managed to stammer. His voice had gotten all squeaky and high, the way it did when he was flustered. 

"Your voice sounds funny." 

"S-shut up." Marco stepped away from the door. "There's people in there. Doin' ... _stuff_." He nudged Jean down the hall, which had cleared a bit since he'd come back out. 

"So is it, like, physically hard for you to curse, or-"

"No!" His voice seemed to rise another octave, and and Marco cursed himself. He glanced at Jean. The other boys' eyes were resting curiously on the door. _Quick, make up a good lie, so that he doesn't look._ Marco knew that Mikasa and Annie were almost definitely back at it, and he was going to guard the secret of his friend's homosexuality if it cost him his life.

"It was two guys," he blurted. 

Jean's eyes widened, and his nose scrunched in distaste. Marco felt a wave of relief as he began down the hall, but at the same time, a cool wash of shame and disappointment at Jean's reaction. 

"I mean, I don't have anything against it or anything like," Jean blurted suddenly. Marco blinked. "I'm just not into guys, you know?" 

"Oh, yeah. Sure, I get it." So perhaps he lacked the small sliver of homophobia that resided in most teenage boys. _You fell for a decent one this time, Marco,_ he thought sardonically. 

"Where exactly is this Starbucks, kid?" Jean asked as they made their way out of the school campus. 

There were five main exits from school campus. Marco thought for a moment. "Take the north exit. And quite calling me 'kid', we established earlier that I'm older than you." 

Jean snickered, yanked Marco forward by wrapping an elbow around his head, and proceeded to rub his knuckles into the other boy's head. "Ow, Jean, dude," Marco suddenly realized that his entire face was pressed to Jean's chest. His cheek could feel the tiny bulge of the other boy's nipple. _Oh my lord._ His entire face heated slightly. 

Jean's grip on his head finally relinquished and Marco jolted back. "Jean," he whined, "you messed up my hair." 

"Oh, did I mess up the pretty princess' hair? I'm sorry." This summoned images of the two of them dressed as Disney princesses to Marco's mind and he desperately held back laughter as they left school grounds. 

~•~

"YMIR, WHAT THE FUCK?"

Her head jerked up. Historia Reiss stood in the doorway. Her tiny hands were placed firmly on her tiny hips. "What?" Ymir said. Historia gestured toward the stove. 

A foul smell had wafted through the basement while Ymir has been on the other side of it, and she ran across it, snapping the burner off. "What the hell is that?" Historia said quietly. Ymir winced, and slammed the the lid of the steaming pot onto it. 

"It's nothing." Historia's fierce eyes tore into her and the minuscule girl strode across the kitchen. 

"Ymir," her expression morphed into something a bit more concerned," are you cooking meth?" Ymir's jaw fell open. "Look, I'm okay with the pot, okay? And if you sell stuff-"

"-wait but-"

"-it's alright, I guess, but I said I didn't want you getting into hard stuff."

"I'm not cooking meth." Historia's eyes said that she didn't believe it. "I'm _not_. Jesus, have you seen Breaking Bad? Shit would be so hard to make on a stove top." Historia didn't look convinced. "Hey. Itsy Bitsy." The nickname seemed to soften her just a bit. "You know I wouldn't lie to you, right? Com'mere." Historia sullenly walked forward and Ymir leaned over to hug her tiny girlfriend to her chest. 

"What is it, then?" Historia mumbled against Ymir's shirt.

"Do you remember when I made you watch The Winter Soldier in theater with me, like, ten times in a row?" 

"It was eight, also, is this an anecdote or a desperate attempt to change the subject?"

"Anecdote. Anyways, remember that once scene where Nick Fury faked his death by slowing his heart rate to one beat per minute?" 

"Yeah ..."

"I was just thinking ..." Ymir's voice had become quiet and tinged with something Historia could only refer to as mad genius, "what if a drug like that actually existed?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, sorry about that. I'll get back to the original plot of Romeo and Juliet eventually I think lmao  
> I just have to deVaopE the ChRacTeRS


	6. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean have a study date at Starbucks and then they run into Levi at the bookstore and Marco fucking panics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I know I haven't updated in two weeks but I'm trying okay
> 
> Also I just finished watching Zankyou no Terror and it fucked me uuuuuuup

Once you got Marco talking, he never shut up. Perhaps this was a side effect of him being an introvert. His kept a lot of information pent up in his brain, never spilling, so once Jean gave him an outlet, the words began to spill freely. Of course, there was the pain in the ass of constantly having to censor himself, and keeping his Montague status quiet was quite difficult, but as long as he switched names and locations in his dialogue, it went smoothly. 

"So your mom, she's a pretty crazy chick," Jean intoned. If anyone else had called Hanji a 'chick', Marco would have been quite taken aback. This was Jean, though, and he nodded enthusiastically. 

"Yeah, she and my dad got married when she was 18 and he was 19. They said they just kinda knew. She drives him crazy, but it's the nice kind of crazy, you know?"

"That sounds nice." Jean's voice was a little bit quiet at the note, and Marco glanced back at him. Something dark momentarily flickered over the other boy's face, but then his eyes made their way back up and it was gone. "Do you have any water? I'm thirsty as hell."

"And Mikasa knows it, too-" Jean shoved him and Marco broke off, giggling. "Yeah, I got a bottle in my back pack. No, don't stop," he held up a hand as Jean's pace slowed, "I've got it." He pulled the backpack off, still walking, then flipped it around to his front, and fed his arms through the straps so that it was fitted across his chest. "Here," he pulled a tiny Crystal Geiser bottle from the contents of his scuffed black bag. 

Jean took the tiny bottle from Marco, and proceeded to chug the entire thing is led than five seconds. Marco's eyes ogled his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down with each swallow (he had no idea why he found that attractive, but he did) but managed to paint an expression besides ecstasy on his face when Jean's head snapped back down. He wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve. 

"Jesus, bottoms up, then." Jean tossed the bottle back at him, and gave him a look. 

"That's for the Mikasa comment."

"I may have deserved it." The familiar shop appeared in Marco's line of vision. "We're here." 

The two entered, and immediately, Jean knew this would be a nice place to study. Most Starbucks' had a faint spicy smell to them that Jean had always liked. It was quiet; only a few customers sat at the tables scattered across the shop. "This one usually doesn't get too crowded," Marco commented, taking a seat at one of the tables with the huge, leather chairs. Jean flopped down across from him. "D'you wanna get coffee?" he asked before Marco could open his mouth. 

"Sure. What d'you want?" 

"Black. I can pay of you-" Marco gave him a look and Jean bit his tongue. The freckled boy trotted off to the cafe front, and returned a few minutes later with two paper cups in hand. He handed one to Jean. "Cheers," he said jokingly, and Jean took a long swig from his.

"Bottoms up," Marco blurted. 

Jean, who's face was tilted upward to increase his coffee intake, met Marco's eyes. When Marco grinned, his cheeks rose, almost to his eye level. The grin somehow made Jean want to do what Marco wanted.

"Oh, my _god_ ," Marco muttered as Jean's face scrunched up in pain. "Dude, you don't-" Jean swallowed once, then twice, "I'm so sorry." Jean glared at him, and rapidly downed another gulp. When the lid finally left Jean's lips, Marco was covering his face with his hands. "I didn't mean to," he giggled through his fingers.

"Like hell, you didn't." Jean's voice sounded a bit different, rough and deep, and Marco's stomach twisted. 

"Alright, no more stalling." He unzipped his bag and pulled a text book from it. Jean leaned his head against the table and groaned, which was vaguely arousing, but Marco kicked him under the table until he looked up. "Let's algebra," he said, grinning.

Jean sighed reluctantly. "Let's algebra." 

~•~

The Red Cat was a tiny bookstore-cafe on the south end of town. It was nice, small. A bit too expensive to visit regularly, but this meant that it was quiet, much more quiet than the rest of the south side. Levi liked a little peace and quiet once and a while. 

His long, spindly fingers brushed over the spines of the art section. Drawing wasn't something he pursued very publicly, in fact, he'd barely picked up a pencil for that reason in the last month, but _perhaps,_ he pondered, pulling a book from the shelf, _owning an anatomy book would make motivation come a bit quicker._

The anatomy book look alright, so he placed it in his arms, along with three others of the same category. He them trotted over to a small leather arm chair in the right back corner, to the side of the used section. Levi leaned back, and sucked the woody smell of the shop in. He could appreciate the atmosphere. 

The door clanged open, and the loud voice of adolescent boys filled the area. "God fucking _damn it_ ," he muttered. His sanctuary had been temporarily displaced. 

Marco lead Jean by the wrist to the front of the shop, where the textbooks were located. "I know it's a pain to carry two around all the time, but the school issued one explains things terribly."

"You've got that right," Jean muttered. His entire brain hurt from studying. He deeply disliked trigonometry, and though Marco was a good teacher, it was still overwhelmingly confusing to him. 

"Honestly, this one saved my life last year." Marco fingered the spine and grimaced in disappointment. "Oh, that's a lot. Prices went up since last time."

"Hey." They both turned. A woman with silvery hair and glasses stood behind them. She wore the store's uniform. "I saw the same one in the used section, they're a lot cheaper there." 

To Jean's surprise, he felt a swell as Marco's face lit up. His eyes seemed to twinkle as he thanked the silver-haired girl, who simply nodded. 

Marco's hand clamped onto Jean's wrist and proceeded to drag to the back of the store. "The used shelf is back here. The food's quite expensive here, and the shorter books are all about 20 bucks a piece, but the used one's are-" 

Marco's rapid banter cut off abruptly. 

Jean frowned. He'd been behind Marco as they walked, but he came up beside him now. "Hey, what ..." Jean's eyes fell on what (or rather, who,) Marco had stopped to stare at. 

"L-L-L-" Marco couldn't force his father figure's name from his own lips. "Lev-v-v-" 

Levi Ackerman was still short. Jean had last seen him storming through the north side of town, hissing insults under his breath. Jean still remembered the chill that had traveled down his spine when those steel grey eyes had fallen on him. 

Marco was staring at Levi as hard as he could. He could see the man's sunken, calculating gaze grazing over Jean, his hair, his starched white shirt. He knew that Levi would come up with the same idea Marco had when he'd him; Jean wasn't just rich, he _looked_ rich. There was no such thing as a rich Montague. Levi met Marco's gaze. Their eyes locked in a fine, strained line for what seemed like forever. 

After a long pause, Levi simply nodded "Marco. You're quite loud."

"S-sorry." His voice had become high and panicked again, and the corner of Levi's mouth twitched. "I've got-t to go n-now." With a tug from Jean, he stumbled backward. Adrenaline buzzed angrily in his skull as they made their way away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was short Im sorry


	7. A Fuoco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco plan to go to a party, I give a quick explain action of why Connie/Tybalt is nicknamed the "Prince of Cats" and Armin is actually pretty cool for once.

"Hey, Marco." 

He glanced up. Jean had been staring through him as he explained the latest problem. _Staring through_ seemed like an good term for the look Jean had been giving him. Jean was staring at him, sure, and it felt nice, but it was the kind of staring one did when one's mind was wandering. 

Marco sighed, looking up. "Have you been listening to anything I'm saying?" This was their seventh study session, and Jean swore his grades were going up, but Marco had his doubts. 

"Yeah, sure." Marco raised his eyebrows and Jean's eyes flickered away from his for a moment. "But Marco."

" _What_?"

"D'you wanna go to a party this weekend?"

The question was a bit out of the blue, but Marco just shook his head. "I'm not much of a party guy." He'd been to Ymir's parties; she couldn't hold her liquor but insisted she could. The parties usually ended with the floor covered in cans, glitter, and vomit. Marco didn't just dislike parties, he hated them. He hated the taste of beer and stomach acid, but it was all to familiar when the simple word crossed his mind. 

"I think I'll pass." Marco's voice sounded a bit off, and Jean raised an eyebrow a him. 

"It could be fun. You've never been to a rich-kid's party, right?"

"Parties aren't me thing- hold up, what?" Jean cocked his head to the side, as if to ask, _what?_ right back. "You want to take _me_ to a party on the-the other side of town?" The sentence was dripping with incredulousness. _Good,_ Marco thought. 

Jean shrugged. "Why not?" The innocence on his face was almost hilarious to Marco. 

"Buh-because ..." _Because I'm the heir to the Montague family and if anyone ever found out, they would tear me apart?_ "You know Connie, Connie Capulet, right?" Jean nodded. His expression had shifted, just slightly, as soon as the name was uttered. "See, he doesn't like me so much. I mean, it's mostly my friends, but he's seen me with them and stuff, and-"

"Connie doesn't like parties. And I mean, if he's bothering your friends, I can talk to him-"

"N-n-n-no." Marco's eyes had gone wide and under the table his hands clenched on his pants. If Jean spoke even one word of him to Connie, his cover would be completely blown. "I mean, it's better if you don't. He's kinda hot headed, isn't he? He wouldn't take it too well if I sent someone to talk to him. Please," he added when Jean still looked uncertain. "I'll with you to the party, or whatever." Jean grinned. "Just don't talk to Connie about me." _I really like you and I want to keep you around me, for a while. Until I can't anymore._

~•~

Jean Kirstien was the official name enrolled in the only highschool in Saint Maria. 

This was an endeavor to protect Jean from the Montagues. Capulet wasn't an idiot; he knew that if everyone knew the sole heir to the Capulet family was enrolled, their attacks on him would be merciless. Hence the fake name. 

The same went for Marco. Bott was his last name in the year book, and as far as anyone at school was concerned. No one but Marco's close friends knew that Levi's son looked like, how old he was, or even that he as adopted. Levi knew Marco could hold his own in a fight. He also knew that Capulets were the name of this earth, and that he loved his wife and son. He was a little paranoid, sure, but wouldn't anyone be in his situation? 

Connie flicked through last year's year book. His fingers were calloused, so much that he hardly felt it as he skimmed them along the page. Connie was smart (this is what he told himself) and he knew that rumors of Levi having himself an heir had surfaced approximately 16 years ago. Assuming that that was about when the little bastard had been born, and knowing that this was the only high school in the whole city, meant that Levi's son should be going to this school. _His_ school. 

But which one was it?

No one in the pictures looked even remotely like Montague or that nut job he'd married. A few of the students had his hair, but undercuts weren't uncommon in Saint Maria. _A complete waste of time,_ , Connie decided after half an hour of scouring the year book. Montague's kid was probably one of those freaks of nature that looked neither like mother not father. He was just about to call it quits and put the yearbook away when a low growl echoed from the doorway. "Oh, fuck," he murmured. 

A fat, grey cat stood in the doorway. It was humongous, and not only because of its weight. The thing was nearly three feet long, and saliva dripped steadily in a never ending cascade down its maw. Connie did a one-eighty, and stood up as quickly as he could. The gigantic cat narrowed its evil yellow eyes at him and a loud rumble erupted in its throat. " _Fuck_ ," he whispered. 

Connie didn't know why, but cats had always hated him. _Passionately_. The damned creatures followed him about, then pounced. White scars streaked his shins from years of being scratched.

"S-s-s-" the cat took a few steps forward. "Sasha!" She had to be around here somewhere. She hadn't ditched him, had she? "SASHA, I NEED HELP!" 

"What?" Connie shuddered in relief at the housekeeper's voice. 

"There's a-" the gigantic creature sprang at him and Connie let out a high-pitched scream, similar to to that of an excited school girl. The cat's jaws hooked onto his thigh, and its claws whipped around from the side, latching themselves on higher up. Unfortunately for Connie, this cat had very long legs and legs he did not. 

"Connie?" Sasha glanced around the corner, and cackled. The boy was paralyzed in terror and anguish. He clung to the wall behind him. A mass of grey fur hung over his knee. "You alright?"

"It's clawing my balls." 

It took about five minutes to unhook the cat's claws from Connie's unmentionables, a five minutes in which he gripped Sasha's arm as hard as possible, uttered sentences that should never been repeated, and cried. A little bit. "I don't think I can have children now," he murmured a few minutes later. Last year's yearbook dangles lifelessly from his fingers. "Hey, Sasha?"

"Mmm?" She currently had twelve BBQ potato chips stuffed into her mouth. 

"If that cat had rabies, do you think I'm gonna get AIDs or something?" 

Sasha stared at him in complete exasperation for a moment, before shaking her head and looking down. "That is not how it works. At all." 

Connie grinned, and Sasha couldn't help but stare at him. Connie was tiny. His hair was buzzed. To Sasha, he was adorable. Which sucked, because Connie was a total asshole. 

She looked away, scowling, and stuffed another potato chip into her mouth. _Whatever._

~•~

Armin Arlert watched as Sasha Braus and Connie Capulet exited the classroom from the safety of the class across from it. He'd stayed after school to study for an Chinese quiz, but the screaming had alerted him of someone else's presence in the school. Finding out that it was Connie made it even better. 

Armin didn't hate Connie because he'd beat the living shit out of Eren; though Armin did love him like his own brother, he'd totally had it coming. No, Armin just hated the Caplet family. 

He knew this school like the back of his hand. It was where he spent most of his time, partially because the streets weren't safe from tiny androgynous gnomes like him, and partially because his grandfather's apartment always smelled like peanut butter and Armin didn't like peanut butter. Either way, he knew his way around. 

He knew that Mrs. P and Mr. Jordan had had an affair two years again, so they'd made a connecting space between their classrooms. He dashed through it now, ignoring the suspicious looking stains on the ground. There was a particular Armin-sized window in Mrs. P's classroom that let him out of the classroom without alerting the two Capulets in the hall of his presence. Mr. Leonard's window was always open, and he kept all sorts of drugs in his desk. Armin crawled in, placing his feet lightly. He didn't like stealing, but Ymir paid a _lot_ anything he could get her. He picked the lock to the desk drawer, and emptied the whole thing into his pockets.

A drainage pipe that efficiently held all 120 pounds of him on his trip up the side of the school was right out side of Ms. Angeline's classroom, four classrooms down from Mr. Leonard's. He hoisted himself up and ran down the length of the room. He was careful to stay in the exact middle of the roof, because Ms. Nigel, Mr. Hennner, and Ms. Johansson liked staying later into the evening and he didn't want them hearing him. 

He slowed at the end of the roof, then sat. A moment later, the tiny Capulet and his ever-consuming companion emerged from the back door. Armin watched them head toward one of the exits to school. He noticed the girl's eyes rest on the guy's face whenever he wasn't looking at her. _So she likes him,_ he thought absent mindedly. 

_Whatever._ The gutter running around the school roof edge was sturdy enough to hold his weight, so he hooked his hands on the edge and swung over. His feet stung a bit when he landed. _I should head over to Marco's soon._ Armin began to trot back the opposite way that Connie and Sasha had. _As terrifying as Levi may be, he can make pasta like no one's business._.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm making Armin a bit darker than he is in the canon show and I apologize but it's for the plot I swear 
> 
> Also I just realized that I accidentally out everyone's favorite characters on the Montague side, so Petra, Erwin, Mina Carolina and Rico are probably going to be Capulets


	8. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any original ideas so have an Under Age Drinking Scene TM with a side order of Jean being gay as FUCK

_Holy_ shit, _I hate straight crushes,_ Marco thought as Jean pulled his shirt over his head. 

He was tan, lean. The muscles on his back flexed when the t-shirt caught on his neck and his shoulders rolled to pull it over. His biceps bulged slightly in a gentle curve from his shoulders. Jean wasn't ripped or anything, but _my god_. His boxers were low enough that Marco could see Jean's hip bones protruding from the skin above his waistband. He also had a faint v-line. And beginnings of ab muscles. 

Oh, what Marco wouldn't give to lick those semi-ab muscles.

Jean's jaw appeared to be moving, and Marco kicked himself. _He's talking. Don't stare. Act normal._

"Pff-fuckin-what?" He asked.

 _Stupendous, Marco. Amazing. You're drooling, by the way._ Marco swiped his arm across his lips.

"I said, you need to fix your hair." Jean pulled a shirt from his closet. _Please don't put a shirt on._ He buttoned it up. _Worth a try_.

"What's wrong with my hair?" 

"It's parted down the middle. You looking like your mother drives a minivan and you wear a metal retainer to sleep." 

"My mother drives a Harley Davidson." 

"That's not the point." Jean threw a comb at him from across the room, which Marco caught with a yelp. "The point is, you should probably look like a rich white kid if you don't want to be singled out."

"You're the only rich white kid I know, Jean." Jean chucked a bottle of something over his shoulder. It flew about four feet wide of Marco, who scooped it from the ground. Hair Gel. "What do I do with this?" 

"Are you telling me you've never used hair gel before?" Jean came across the room, and yanked the bottle and comb from Marco's hands. "Come on. I'll do it." He wetted the bristles of the brush in gel and then suddenly his fingers were in Marco's hair, and _Oh my_ God. He tried desperately to steady his breathing, and the steady twitch in his right index finger. He mentally screamed at his dick that this would be a fantastic time to not make a guest appearance. 

"Marco?" Jean snapped in front of his face, and Marco squeaked loudly. "You ... Alive? The fuck are you doing?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Sure! Yeah, sorry. I didn't sleep a lot yesterday. I mean, last night." Jean's face said he didn't believe him in the slightest, but he didn't prod. Marco glanced in the mirror and blinked in surprised. Sure, he did look like a rich white kid with his hair like this, but he looked _good_. He reached up, and experimentally ran his hand through the front to push it up. Jean looked as if he was going to say something, but he simply flashed Marco a thumbs up. 

"Should we go soon?" Marco squirmed. He had one good shirt, and he was wearing it at the moment. It was a bit too tight. 

Jean cleared his throat loudly. "Yeah, sure." Marco stared in the mirror, then undid the top button on his shirt. There. He looked more relaxed, and he didn't feel like he was being choked. Marco glanced down at his chest. Now that he thought of it, it was a miracle that the tiny black tattoo on his chest that bore the family name didn't show through his thin white shirt. He regretted that tattoo. It had been Eren's idea, which somewhat explained the regret. Hardly anything Eren suggested went right. 

They'd decided to meet at one of Jean's friend's houses. Neither boy wanted to take the other to his house, and neither boy could explain why, so the compromise worked nicely. Marco was beginning to dislike the feeling of his hair; it was crackly, and he resisted the urge to comb it out with his fingers. "This way," Jean called. Marco glanced over and felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. The car Jean's friend was driving was a sleek, silver car who's brand Marco couldn't name, but the thing looked damned expensive. He'd asked Levi for a car once, and the man had simply given him a look of distain and snorted, "Maybe when you can pay for insurance yourself." 

Levi knew damn well that Marco didn't and never would have enough money to pay car insurance. 

The seats were black leather, lined with golden lacing. The guy in the front seat barely lent Marco a glance before starting the car. "Hey, Kirstien," he said when Jean slipped into the shotgun seat. 

"Hey, Smith." The two trailed off into casual conversation. Marco sat awkwardly in the back as the car pulled out of the drive way and then held back a squeal of alarm as the car lurched forward at a speed that most likely wasn't legal in a neighborhood. Smith was a well muscled boy of about 6 feet, and prattled on and on about his older brother, who's name slipped Marco's mind (Edward? Ervin?) who was apparently in the police force. Marco didn't like police officers, they were always coming up with excuses to take the poorer (and often, person of color) kids on into custody and to break up the block parties that were thrown ever so often. He held his tongue.

The car stopped a few blocks later, and two giggling girls crammed themselves into the seats next to Marco. Their curious, heavily made-up eyes rested on him for a moment before Smith greeted them loudly and their attention was reverted. Smith seemed like the kind of kid who was on the football team and had dated half the girls in the school, including the freshmen. 

Marco's eyes widened as they traveled through the neighborhood. The houses here weren't as huge as his wildest dreams had lead him to think, but they were damn well near. Lights filled the street and illuminated the sidewalk. Marco thought back to his neighborhood. The sidewalk had been dark except for the little yellow pools of light cast by rickety lightposts. It was a tiny detail, and he set it aside as the car parked by the curb. 

"Holy crap, dude," Marco murmured to Jean as they approached the house the party was being held in. There had to be three stories, and Marco counted three, no, four balconies just on the front side. 

"You sound like a twelve year old who's afraid of getting in trouble with his mom for cursing," Jean snickered. Marco flushed. "Loosen up a little. It's a party." 

"I told you, I'm not a party guy." Marco murmured. _Still_ , he thought as the door opened, perhaps he could get used to this.

The music wasn't whomping through the house. That was a nice change. There weren't any unsavory liquids on the whiskey colored floors yet. He turned the corner. 

A rather drunk looking girl slammed into him. _I suppose that's to be expected_ , Marco thought as the girl toppled against the wall, looking disoriented. Jean's expression twisted a little, and he opened his mouth but Marco gave him a quiet look, which, somehow, shut him up. "Hey." He placed his hands on the girl's shoulders, gently cupping them. Her wide, glazed-over eyes stared up at him. "You alright?"

"Mm-hmm. Sorry," she murmured, and then made her way back out of the hallway. Marco watched her make her way out the door, then turned back to the hall ahead of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jean staring at him, his expression unreadable. Marco glanced at him, and Jean looked back at the hall. His jaw was clenched ever-so-slightly. Marco frowned. _What was that about?_

The hallway opened up into a large kitchen, and noise hit Marco like a truck. The kitchen was jam-packed with teenagers. It smelled like alcohol, but not like the cheap beer at Ymir's. It smelled a lot stronger, like ethanol, and then sweet. Like vodka and lemonade. He'd never tried vodka and lemonade, but it had always sounded sort of ... nice. The floors were white tile. Even this ceiling was high. 

"Who's house is this?" Marco yelled to Jean, who cupped a hand around his ear. Marco repeated his message. Jean twisted and yelled, "You probably wouldn't know her." Marco shrugged. _True enough_.

"Hey, Bott." Marco turned flinched, hard. Annie's unwavering blue gaze met his. 

"You ... you do know her, then," Jean murmured. Marco frowned, confused. "It's her party." 

"Hey. Kirstien, correct?" Jean nodded. One of his eyebrows had fashioned itself into a high arch. "Can I get your friend a drink?" Jean glanced at Marco, who shrugged. _It couldn't hurt, right?_ He thought as Annie latched into his wrist. Her grip was quite tight. "Be right back." 

~•~ 

Jean's eyes followed Annie and Marco through the crowd of teenagers until they reached the counter with the drinks. Marco seemed nervous, which was understandable. Annie was scary looking chick. Well, not necessarily _scary,_ she was quite beautiful, but at the same time ... _Maybe it's her eyes,_ Jean thought. They were piercing and icy blue, just like his fathers. 

Jean shuddered when the thought occurred to him. He didn't like blue eyes.

Now she was pouring Marco a glass of champagne, which he looked quite hesitant about taking. Marco was quite shy, Jean was coming to realize this. Perhaps more-so around girls. _That's almost ..._ he frowned. The thought train cut off right there as if the rest of it was classified, and he'd stumbled onto it. What was the word that he'd censored out? _Cute?_ He raised an eyebrow. _That's kinda gay, Jean._

 _Wait, not really, right?_ He argued back. _It isn't gay to acknowledge that another guy is attractive to conventional standards. Girls do that to each other all the time._ He didn't get to finish his internal conversation, though, because Annie and Marco were kissing. 

A more accurate description; Annie was eating Marco's entire face. Her small hands had captured the collar of his shirt, pulling him nearly a foot down to her height. Marco's entire face had turned bright red and his arms flapped by his sides like fins on a fish that had been flung from the depths of the ocean. There was that feeling again. _Yeah, Marco is cute_. It was alright if he admitted it, just to him, right? He had absolutely no idea how to kiss. His freckles looked like smatters of glitter on his cheeks. He helped drunk girls at parties. Marco was really, _really_ cute. 

"Kirstien!" Jean blinked, and glanced over, as if breaking from a trance. He broke into a smile. 

"Hey, Jason! I haven't seen you in forever, man!" Jason was a short Indian dude with hair that was always drawn back into a pony tail. He's gone into private tutoring after ninth grade, and Jean hadn't heard a peep from him since. 

"Okay, so I came here with this chick, right?" 

He hadn't changed in the slightest. 

"You gotta meet her. She's like," he made a high pitched whining sound and fanned himself violently with his hands. "Come on. She's by the music." Jean glanced back at Marco, who had escaped the deep depths of Annie's mouth and was staring at him in confusion. Jean pointed upward aggressively, and Marco nodded. He turned back to Jason.

"Alright, let's go see your girl." 

~•~

_"Marco, how are you?" Annie was barely yelling, yet her voice seemed to cut through the crowd perfectly._

_"Good," he replied as loudly as possible. She nodded in response, coming up onto the counter. It was covered completely with liquor and soda. Next to them, a girl with black hair in two pony tails was mixing herself a drink in a large pub-style glass. She added ice first, then orange juice, then sparkling water, which filled about half the cup up, then the rest whiskey. "Jesus," Marco mumbled, and the girl glanced at the two of them._

_"Hi, Annie."_

_"Hey, Mina. You're spilling alcohol on my counter." Mina glanced down. Her cup was over flowing._

_"I drink to forget, but I always remember," she answered cheerfully. With that, she skipped, sloshing her poorly made cocktail over her chest._

_"Marco." Annie tapped him on the shoulder. A flute of champagne was clutched in on of her palms and she handed it to him. He juggled it awkwardly between hands for a moment before setting it down on the counter. Her eyes captured the dark light for the room in a way that made them look as if they glowed when their steely gaze fell on him. He didn't like her, he decided. "I doubt the people at this party would like you very much if they knew where you lived."_

_He REALLY didn't like her, he decided. "I doubt the people at this party would like you very much if they knew who you were sleeping with," he replied quickly. He didn't want to say it, and there was no way in hell that he was going to out both her and Mikasa to save his own skin._ But she doesn't know that. She thinks I'm serious. 

_Annie's eyes narrowed. "So we're 1 to 1. Is your boyfriend looking?"_

_Marco flushed. "M-m-m-m-my w-what?" He squeaked._

_"He is looking. Better act natural." With that, she leaned forward and kissed him._

_Marco stood completely still as a wave of utter revulsion ran its tiny hands over him. Annie was wearing so much lipstick, it was kissing a canvas covered with oil paints. Her hand had hooked his collar, pulling downward. His skin was crawling. He didn't want this. He didn't want his lips on hers, her hand in his hair. And her_ tongue _, it was like she was trying to suffocate him with it. Marco glanced at Jean. His jaw had dropped._

_Annie's hands relaxed and her face moved away from his. Marco frantically wiped his forehand across his mouth, trying to remove the lipstick from what felt like the entire lower half of his face. "You're gay, aren't you." Annie sounded extremely satisfied with herself._

_"Yeah, and so are you. What-why-why did you feel the need to do that?" She seemed by his voice, which had changed pitch accordingly._

_"Now we're 2 to 1."_

_"What is the_ point _of that? And no you're not, I can still tell Mikasa that kissed me."_

_Annie blanched. "Okay. So we're even. You don't spill, and I don't don't spill."_

_"Wha- what was the point of this?" Annie didn't grace him with an answer. Instead, she sauntered away, and disappeared into the crowd._

It was probably a power play. This was what Marco figured as he leaned over the edge of a balcony on his elbows. Annie was kind of a dominant person, or a "top", as Ymir would put it. She wanted to be alpha in her own house, and she'd spied Marco as an outsider. That's why she'd gotten such enjoyment out of making him uncomfortable. It wasn't that she didn't like him, she just wanted to establish herself. 

Granted, he still didn't like her. 

"I found you." Marco turned from the edge of the balcony as a breathless Jean staggered toward him. "I know I said to meet upstairs, but all the rooms either had someone doing drugs or someone fucking, so I figured you'd be out here." Jean came to a hauler next to Marco. 

"It's a nice view," Marco said, and he meant it. Annie's house was taller than many of the others in the neighborhood, and Marco felt as if he could see for miles around. The city was nothing special when you stood on the ground, looking up, but when you were all the way up, like most cities, Marco supposed, it was breath taking. All the lights of the city blended together in a field of glowing yellows and light blues. Marco loved it. 

"I guess." He glanced at Jean, who was staring out at the same view with a very, very different expression. It was a look of distain. The look Thomas gave Armin in the hallways. Even so, even beyond the sheen of sweat over his brow and his ruffled hair, Jean looked stunning. Marco sighed quietly. _What is with this crush? I never fall this hard for straight guys._ "Marco, what do you wanna do after high school?"

"Mm? Oh, I ..." He frowned. Levi hadn't once expressed any need for him to stay, but somehow, he felt as if he had to stay in Saint Maria. To continue the family feud? No, that wasn't it. The feud was kind of stupid, in his opinion. So what reason was there to stay? 

"I'm not sure," he answered simply. 

Jean sighed. His eyes looked tired. "As soon as I graduate, I'm out of here." Marco blinked. "I can probably figure out how to access my college bank account before my parents unlock it, you know? Seriously. The moment I get my diploma, I'm gonna hop into my car and leave every last Montague AND Capulet in the dust." There was silence for a moment. Marco stared out at the city. Jean stared at him.

"See," Marco started,"on one hand, I want to apply for a good college, and there are no good colleges anywhere around here. But on the other hand, I want stay near my family. My mom might blow herself up if I don't," he added with a giggle. 

That _giggle. Fuck_ , Jean thought as his chest fluttered. The lights of the city glared off of Marco's wide, hopeful eyes. Yellow, like the color of butter, dappled with blue that was much too light to ever be recreated in nature. They seemed much more beautiful when they were Marco's. That word came to mind again: cute. Marco was cute. And it wasn't gay if he just thought that privately. 

A red light cut through the calm pastels reflected onto Marco's iris'. He blinked, obscuring the lights for a moment. Jean looked up, and then he heard it too; sirens wailing in the distance. No, not the distance. These were pretty close. These were pulling around the corner, heading for the driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I haven't been updating but I'm in a play actually, and I've been at rehersalall day and do not much time to write but I'll be back on a scedual soon


	9. La La

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gays run from the police and Jean has a lovely dream which he consults Erwin about

"Shi-crap." Marco grabbed Jean's wrist. Jean flinched slightly at the contact. His eyes were fixed on the cars in the drive way. He looked both terrified and confused.

"What do we do?" Jean asked. His voice had heightened to a faint whisper. 

"You've- " Marco shook his head. "You've never had to run from the cops, have you."

Jean eyes roamed the front lawn frantically. "They never break up our parties." Blue uniforms had begun to spill from the cars in the drive way. Marco's stare of complete incredulous melted away. His mouth set in a firm line. 

"There's a first time for everything. Let's go." 

They shot through the house, until they reached the second floor, where Marco pulled Jean into a spare room. "Everyone is going to try and get out the back door," he explained rapid fire as he strode across the space. It was a small study, made of dark mahogany wood. "That way is all blocked up. If we tried to get out that way, we'd definitely get caught before we could make it out. Therefore ..." He slid his fingers under the edge of a window on the far side of the room. It slid up and Marco stepped to the side, gesturing to the opening. "Ladies first." 

"First of all, fuck you," Jean snapped. _I wish_ , Marco thought. "Second of all, I'm not jumping out the window."

Marco sighed. "There's roof outside the window. Annie's house has two sets of roof, and this one is about three feet under this window. It slopes drastically downward until the drop from the house is only about ten feet." 

"How the fuck do you know _that?_ "

"I got into a habit of scouting out the area when I might have to make a get away." Downstairs, he could hear adult voices yelling over the groans of intoxicated teenagers. "We don't have anymore time. Come on." He ducked through the gap between the window pane and the window sill and swung his feet into the expansion of grey shingles outside. He angled his feet so that he wouldn't slide too drastically as he made his way down the side of the roof, and he felt a prickle of satisfaction as he heard Jean scrabbling down after him. When Marco reached the edge of the roof, he straightened his legs, then pushed off without thinking. He landed in a crouch and rolled onto his knees immediately, letting his thigh muscles absorb the blow. Jean hit the ground next to him a moment later, directly on his feet. Marco winced as he yelped with the pain that had just shot directly up his legs through his feet. "Don't land on your feet, you'll hurt yourself," Marco advised, straightening up. 

"I _noticed_ ," Jean hissed. Marco grimaced. 

"You ever jumped a fence?" Marco asked as they raced across back lawn. It was unnecessarily large. The lawn extended about thirty feet outward, and then melded with a luxurious garden, equip with a pond. _Who the hell needs a pond in their back yard?_ Marco thought incredulously as he skirted around it. A steel fence, about nine feet high, wrapped around the back of the lawn. There was only one wrung, at the very top, which was nearly eight feet up. Marco jumped and caught it, then walked his feet up the vertical bars until he could pull his legs over the top, lift his butt over the spike that protruded past the horizontal wrung, and hop down. He rolled again, and let his thighs take the fall. He was going to ache tomorrow. "Jean?" He called. The other boy was looking at the fence dubiously. "Here." He reached through the fence and laced his fingers together in a crutch. 

"Thanks." Jean placed his foot in the crutch and Marco gritted his feet; Jean wasn't particularly light. Jean grabbed the top of the fence and hoisted himself so that his side hung over the fence. "Aw, fuck. Marco." He inched himself forward a tiny bit. "This blows. Fuck." 

The fence gave sickening creak as Jean lost his balance. He barely had time to spit another string of curses before he came toppling from the top of the fence. 

Directly into Marco. 

He gave a loud squeak as Jean landed on him. Jean's chin thudded downward and stabbed Marco's collarbone. The impact knocked both of them to the ground, and Marco heard Jean yell loudly. Marco wasn't ready when he hit the ground, and rolled just in time for his shoulder to take the blow, which prevented him from getting the wind knocked out of him. Jean had landed beside him, but his hand were still grasping the front of Marco's shirt like his life depended on it. He was trembling all over, and Marco rested a gentle hand on his wrist. "Are you alright?" Jean's eyes opened, and Marco suddenly realized how _close_ their faces were to each other. He could feel Jean's panicked breath caressing his cheeks. Their noses were barely an inch apart. And Jean was just _staring_ at him. 

_Don't let go of me. Just lay with me for a few more moments_.

"Ow." Jean's hands relaxed, and a moment later, he had pushed himself up. Marco groaned when he hoisted himself off the ground, partially from the pain in his bruised muscles, and partially from the lack of company. 

"You up for some more running? That's what we have next." Jean made a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat, like a spoiled child that had been denied candy. "It isn't my fault you don't know how to hop a fence," Marco grumbled. "If I could carry you, I would." To his surprise, Jean blinked, then turned his face away for a moment. 

_He's_ really _cute,_ , Jean thought, almost angrily, as they began to jog to away from Annie's house and the tall fence. _I'm not thinking about this the way I should be. I should be acknowledging his attractiveness and then moving along with my life. But I'm not._

 _I keep getting hung up on it when ever I look at him._ Marco glanced back, and Jean felt his heart contract _aggressively. What's with that?_ He thought. 

_I had too much to drink. That's it._ The memory of Jason handing him a glass full of amber liquid surfaced. _That was probably it._

~•~

Jean woke the next morning with a slight head ache. It surprised him that that one glass of brandy had been to enough to make him hallucinate that he was gay for Marco AND give him a hangover, even if it was quite small. He rolled over and picked his phone up from his night stand. He'd gone to bed at about 12:00, which wasn't the latest he'd ever stayed on a school night. It was now 6:26, which meant he had an hour and half before school started. Jean turned on his phone. 

_You made it home ok, right?_ That was from Marco. Jean smiled slightly, then blinked and shook his head. The fluttering in his chest, there is was again. _Oh, what the fuck,_ he thought, placing his phone face down on the bedspread. 

_I'm not gay for Marco Bott._

_I'm_ not _gay for Marco Bott._

And with that, he didn't think about it all morning. 

That was a lie. When he dressed, he thought about whether or not he was gay for Marco. When he eat breakfast, he remembered that Marco's favorite breakfast food was cornflakes with raspberries. When he pulled his jacket on, he remembered how he'd decided not to wear this one the night before because he hadn't wanted Marco to think he was under dressed. _I'll just avoid him, then,_ he thought firmly. _I've been spending too much time around him, that's it._ "Bye, Sasha!" He called. The red haired house keeper nodded toward him in response. 

Jean unlocked his car, and immediately felt his stomach sink. He didn't _want_ to ignore Marco, not even for a day. _Shut up, Jean, what's wrong with you?_ He gritted his teeth and entered the car. 

_I'm going to exercise willpower,_ he told himself. 

_I'm going to avoid Marco,_ as he turned down the street the highschool was on. 

_I'm not gonna talk to him,_ as he pulled into a parking spot. 

_I'm not going to think about him,_ as he locked his car. 

_I'm not going--_

"Hey, Jean!" _Fuck._ Jean turned around, grimacing. Marco's form jogging toward him made his insides twist into a warm knot. "Hey, Ms. Tredow said you forgot your notebook in second period." He held it out with both hands. Like a present. His cheeks were just the slightest bit flushed from running. His wide brown eyes were so warm and trusting. A small smile had twitched the upsides of his lips upward.

"Jean? You're staring at me. Is there something wrong?" Jean blinked. 

"No, I'm alright," he murmured weakly, taking the notebook from Marco's hands. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." 

Jean sighed as Marco began to traile him to first period. His entire presence made _Who am I kidding. He's my best friend. Of course I can't stay away from him._

~•~

_Marco's mouth was soft. His lips were gentle, yet his movements were firm. When Jean pulled him forward by his collar, he made a little whining sound and let his lips open slightly. Jean's tongue slipped into his mouth, and Marco gasped again. His grip on Jean's neck stiffened slightly, and Jean could feel his breath becoming gaspy as his kisses became a bit more rough. Jean slipped his hands under Marco's thighs and dragged him forward until he was straddling his waist. Marco's mouth broke away from his for a moment. "J-Jean," he stuttered, and his cheeks had turned rosy. The blush glowed under his freckles. Jean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Marco's jaw, and this time he uttered a tiny, breathy moan. "J-J-Jean!" He gasped as-_

Jean sat straight up in bed. 

Sweat coated his body. 

_Oh, what the_ fuck. 

It was the weekend, so as soon as the time read 8:00, Jean threw on some cloths, not paying much attention to what he put on. As soon as he was dressed, he dashed down the stairs, two at a time. Sasha was walking up the glanced up as he raced down the side of the staircase opposite her. "Morning, Jean," he glanced toward her, and she frowned. "You look at little pink," she motioned in the area of her face. "Feeling feverish or anything?" 

"Shut up," Jean barked angrily, blushing even harder. He turned and ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet a total of eight times before coming to a stop at the bottom. He walked across the floor in long strides, then broke into a jog once he reached the ten foot mark of the front door. "Good morning, Jean," one of his father's servants called. He sprinted toward the door, yanked it open, and then slammed it behind him. 

His car was parked out front, and he clambered inside it. He started the engine and pulled out of the drive way as quickly as he could. Driving would probably take his mind off of the dream. 

Driving did not take his mind off of the dream. Driving meant all he had to do was think about how badly he needed to study, and he studied with Marco. Driving meant turning on the the radio and realizing for the first time that _every single song is about sex,_ and that also reminded him of Marco. Jean groaned in frustration and slammed his forehead into his wheel. A loud beep emitted from the car, and he jerked back from it. Fortunately, he was all alone on this part of the road. 

There was someone he needed to visit, he reminded himself, and turned into the exit from the neighborhood. 

~•~

Erwin Smith hadn't combed his hair yet. This was a problem; Erwin liked his hair to be neat and orderly, just like the rest of his house. It wasn't spotless, like Levi Ackerman's (he sighed deeply at the thought of Levi Ackerman) but the pillows on the couch weren't strewn all over, his books were all in the shelf, and his counter was clean. He remembered how Hanji Zoe's apartments had looked when she had been living on her own at age sixteen; her cloths had been strewn across her room in wild disarray, the dishes had been piled up in the sink, and the floors were cluttered with boxes. He had spent hour after hour at that apartment, cleaning. Hanji always thanked him for it, but the apartment was always cluttered up when he came back. 

It had been a long time since he'd spoken with Hanji Zoe or Levi Ackerman. It had been a long time since he'd even thought about them. 

The ringing doorbell snapped Erwin from his thoughts, and he realized with a slight pang of sorrow that his eggs had gone cold. He glanced in the window and raked his fingers through his hair in an attempt to comb it. He grimaced. At least it wasn't in his face anymore. The doorbell rang again, and Erwin strode across his kitchen, out to the parlor, then to the front room. He glanced out the peephole and low and behold, Jean Kirstien Capulet was waiting for him. The boy was about to reach for the doorbell again when Erwin opened the front door. "Good morning, Jean-"

"Is it gay if you think a boy's cute?" Jean blurted. His entire face had turned bright pink. He had obviously hurried over here, for his shirt was inside out, and his hair was a mess. Erwin stared at him for a moment. 

"I think you'd better come in and sit down."

Jean followed him into the house. He was fidgeting, Erwin noticed. His fingers twitched and he continuously pulled a the edge of his jacket. His eyes darted about anxiously, even though he'd visited the house many times before. Something was definitely bothering him, and Erwin had a feeling he knew what it was. 

"The question," Jean said as soon as he sat down. 

"Tea?" Erwin asked, pulling his kettle from the stove.

"Who the fuck drinks tea?"

"I do. I'm English." He pulled a chair out, and sat in it. "Yes."

"Huh?"

"The answer to your question."

Jean looked taken aback. "S-seriously? No follow up questions? No context?" 

Erwin smiled dryly. There was absolute terror in Jean's eyes. "The way you said it tipped me off. If you'd simply found another guy _attractive_ , you mostly likely wouldn't have used 'cute' as descriptor. Also, you've usually got a pretty stable image of yourself, so if you'd simply thought a boy was nice looking, you wouldn't have freaked and came to me." Jean buried his head in his arms. "It's really nothing to be ashamed of, you know." 

"It's not that." It was, a little bit. His father was not going to like this in the _slightest._ "That's it, then? I'm gay?"

"Don't be stupid. You've crushed on girls since you could speak. This makes you bisexual, at least." _Possibly pansexual,_ Erwin thought, but he hardly had the patience or energy to explain what that was to Jean at the moment. "Do you wanna talk about it, or-"

" _No._." Jean snapped. 

"Who made you realize?" 

"I had a dream."

Erwin gestured with his hand to continue. Jean buried his head in his arms, then looked up again quickly. His whole face was flushed with embarrassment. "You know, _that_ kind of dream-"

"About ... a guy? I'm assuming?"

Jean sighed. "This guy at my school." Erwin nodded. He knew the feeling quite well. "He's tall, and freckley, and he's an asshole. I'm not talking about it. Stop looking at me like that." 

"You totally like him." Jean thought of Marco, and immediately, fluttering filled his stomach. 

"Yeah," he muttered. He remembered all the times in the past month that he'd looked at Marco and simply felt at home. He wasn't quite sure how he'd rationalized that into plain old friendship. "I guess I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want more Erwin Levi Hanji backstory I'm gonna do that


	10. Berlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean had a nightmare and it's confusing and weird (I can't write I'm srry frens) anyway Marco comforts him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post I'm sorry
> 
> Some of the HTML isn't working for some reason rip so a lot of things are supposed to be in italics and they arent. Apologies if the chapter looks messy because of it.

_Marco pushed his cheek to the table and moaned._

_It was nowhere near as erotic as it sounded._

_A paper was loosely clutched in his right hand, and he stared at it in despair. 50% percent was probably the worst grade he'd gotten on a test all year. There was no point in asking for a retake because retakes in Mr. Henning's class could only get you up to half credit, and Marco was already at half credit. How could he get half credit on a quiz? This was going to take his grade down to at least a B, if not a C+. Levi was going to kill him!_

Marco blinked awake. His room was dimly lit by the first rays of morning light. _That was a weird dream,_ he thought, and pulled his hand forward to check his watch. It was four in the morning.

Something was tapping at his window. Marco frowned, and turned, and then clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

Two large blue eyes were staring at him over the rim of his window sill. Marco scramble backward and almost fell from his bed before he realized that there was a blonde fringe hanging above those eyes. Armin waved at him.

Marco opened his window and glared down at the tiny boy, who was sitting on Eren Jeager's shoulders. "Whatever it is, it can wait." His voice was rough and deep.

"We heard you got into a rich kid party," Eren whispered. "Was it crazy?"

"Sure," Marco hissed. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Did that horse-looking fuck get you in?"

"Jean isn't a horse-looking fuck, he's really nice once you get to know him."

" _Okay_ , your boyfriend got you in."

Marco blushed. "He isn't my boyfriend."

"But you wish he was, right?" Armin replied quietly. Marco glared at him. Armin was really, really good at seeing through other people's bullshit. Sometimes it was useful. Sometimes it was not.

"Yes, he got me into the party. What do you _want?_ What were you two even _doing_ at four in the morning?"

Armin began coughing loudly, and Eren exclaimed, "Nothing!" Marco stared at the two of them for a moment. "Anyway, there's a party on the North Side the day school ends. It's a costume party, so if we wanna sneak in, all we'd have to do is wear masks."

"What?!" Marco hissed. "No! That is a terrible idea! Are you crazy?"

Suddenly, Armin's eyes widened and he dove from Eren's shoulders and onto the ground. He rolled gracefully and then sprinted away from the window. "Ow!" Eren snapped, rubbing his neck. "What was that about ..." He trailed off, staring at something behind Marco.

"Marco, of all the things you could have woken me up with, this is certainly the least delightful."

_SHIT._

__Marco turned slowly. Levi was standing directly behind him, his hair rumpled. He was wearing pajamas with tiny sheep on them. His eyes were narrowed into a glare that could have killed a man._ _

__"M-Mr. Montague, I-"_ _

__"Shut your trap, you insolent little fuck," Levi snarled. Eren closed his mouth, and Marco grimaced. Levi in the middle of the day could be quite unpleasant, but Levi in the early morning was an absolute nightmare. When Marco was thirteen, he'd tried to sneak out of the house at midnight and Levi had caught him. It had taken hours to shovel the snow out of the whole yard that winter._ _

__"Marco. Explain."_ _

__"Eren had a question for me. Why he didn't text is beyond me." Levi stared hard into his eyes, and concluded that Marco was just as tired and confused as he was. He sighed._ _

__Eren blurted, "I'm over my text limit for this month." _Seriously? It's only the 16th,_ Levi and Marco thought in unison. "Mikasa always pays for it I figured I shouldn't-"_ _

__"Jeager, get off my lawn before I file a restraining order against your entire extended family." Eren turned and bolted. Levi rolled his eyes. "You really need to set some boundaries with your friends."_ _

__"Sorry." Marco shuffled over to his bed and collapsed into it. Levi shut his door quietly, so as not to wake Hanji._ _

__~•~_ _

__Jean, across the city, was also awake. He was glaring at his dick._ _

__He'd had The Dream again. It wasn't at all unpleasant for him, and apparently the rest of his body didn't think so either._ _

___What_ would _Marco's lips taste like?_ he wondered, then rolled over and buried his burning face in a pillow. This resulting in his dick getting bent backward, which fucking hurt. He rolled back over, onto his side. He sighed deeply. _What if Marco's straight?__ _

___What if he_ isn't? _ _

__~•~_ _

__Jean's father didn't look happy in the slightest when he arrived home that afternoon. He'd been away on a two day business trip, (Jean _loved_ when his father was away) and by the looks of him, it hadn't gone particularly well. _ _

__"Welcome ho-" Sasha was cut off by the door slamming._ _

__"JEAN." Jean flinched._ _

__"Yessir?"_ _

__"Get into my study."_ _

Jean didn't move. He felt rooted to the spot. "NOW, boy." _Oh my God, he's going to kill me,_ Jean thought flatly. He nodded jerkily and followed his father up the stairs. He pondered the idea of how awkward the journey up would be if they had, in fact, installed an elevator like he's wished so often. Sasha's large, piteous eyes followed the two up. 

__Jean's father closed the door. He strutted across the room, and flopped down into a chair. His sharp blue eyes seemed to burn holes into Jean. He'd never seen his father this angry with him, which meant he had no idea what was to happen next. Would there be punishment? Father hadn't ever done anything like that ... not to him, anyway ..._ _

__There were about five seconds of silence, in which adrenaline began to drip steadily into Jean's blood, before his father spoke._ _

__"I received a call this morning," he stated quietly, "from Alexander, a friend of mine. He told me that when he and his daughter, Constance, came to visit you yesterday morning, you weren't home, and none of the servants had the slightest clue where you were. Would you care to explain that?"_ _

___Shit._ _ _

___He'd been at Erwin's house that day._ _ _

__"S-sir-"_ _

__"Don't stutter, you sound ridiculous."_ _

__Jean licked his lips. He could feel with cheeks growing warm with shame, and his throat constricting, but he managed to croak, "Sir, I was visiting Erwin Smith."_ _

__Jean's father snorted. "I don't want to hear _excuses_. Why weren't you _here_ , when my guests were?" He was yelling now, and Jean could feel his hands trembling where he clasped them behind his back. "Do you want to make me looks bad in front of my associates? Mr. Knickerman is a _very important_ business partner of mine! I'll not have your carelessness ruin our partnership, do you hear me young man?"_ _

__"Yessir." Jean's eyes hadn't left his shoes throughout the conversation. Suddenly, his father's hand came up from his desk and clamped down on Jean's cheeks, yanking his face upward. His nails dug into Jean's cheeks, but he didn't struggle. Struggling meant he was weak, and weakness wasn't tolerated in this house hold. " _Look at me when I'm speaking to you!_ " Jean's father roared. Jean felt tears sting at his eyes. "Answer my question." _ _

___You're hurting me. Let me go._ _ _

__"Yessir," Jean murmured._ _

__~•~_ _

___Marco's mouth was soft. His lips were gentle, yet his movements were firm. When Jean pulled him forward by his collar, he made a little whining sound and let his lips open slightly. Jean's tongue slipped into his mouth, and Marco gasped again._ _ _

___It was the dream again, but something was off. In the past, there had only been the sound of the two boy's breaths. Now, in the distance, there was the faint sound of cawing, like that of crows. Marco's grip on Jean's neck stiffened slightly, and Jean could feel his breath becoming gaspy as his kisses became a bit more rough. Jean slipped his hands under Marco's thighs and dragged him forward until he was straddling his waist. Marco's mouth broke away from his for a moment. "J-Jean," he stuttered, and his cheeks had turned rosy. The blush glowed under his freckles. Jean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Marco's jaw, and this time he uttered a tiny, breathy moan. "J-J-Jean!" He gasped as-_ _ _

___"Jean!" He scrambled up, and turned to face his father, who's face was livid. "What in the bloody depths of hell do you think you're doing?" Marco slipped a hand around Jean's wrist, gently, as if to comfort him. "You're a Capulet, for God's sake!" his father continued. The hand slipped down. "You can't go off and do things like this!"_ _ _

___"Jean," Marco murmured, "what's he talking about?" His eyes were wide with hurt. "You're not ... You're not a ... Are you?"_ _ _

___The sound of birds grew louder._ _ _

___"Jean, boy, you'd better come with me right now." Jean turned to face his father again. "We're going to have a discussion when we get home."_ _ _

___"Jean ..." Marco was backing away from him._ _ _

___Jean started toward him. "Marco, I'm sorry, I-"_ _ _

___"No!" Marco yelled. "Don't come near me." He was scrambling backward now, as if Jean was something dirty. "You lied to me"_ _ _

___Jean gasped, and felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. Even so, there was no mercy on Marco's face._ Of course not, _he thought,_ I lied to him. I deserve it. _The cawing in the distance grew even louder, filling Jean's ears. He glanced behind him, hoping to plead with Capulet, and emitted a loud gasp. His father had collapsed onto the ground, his hands splayed out beside him.__ _

___"Dad?" Jean whispered, walking up beside him, as if in a trance. "Dad, are you ..." His father's eyes were open, glazed over, and a trickle of blood had run from the corner of his mouth. Panic began to drip steadily into Jean's system. "Dad, get up. Come on."_ It was impossible. There was no shot, no sound of struggle. When had he- _ _

___"Jean ..." He turned just as Marco tumbled to the ground. He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. Marco's hands twitched as Jean ran over. Blood had spilled down in a cascade from beyond Marco's hairline, coating the right side of his face in red. The cawing grew louder and Jean clapped his hands over his ears. Marco's face was stricken with fear even in death. "Wake up," Jean muttered. "Wake up, Marco, don't ..." His hands left his ears, and the cawing was almost overwhelming. Jean couldn't even hear himself when he spoke._ I'm not alone. Someone else is here, and they killed Marco and Dad._ _

___The tip of a shoe bumped into his heel._ _ _

___Jean turned and looked up. Through the tears in his eyes, he saw his father standing over him. His eyes were bulging and yellow, inhuman. His mouth opened._ _ _

___He cawed._ _ _

__~•~_ _

__Marco startled awake to the sound of his phone ringing._ _

__He frowned, and picked it up. He'd blocked Eren's number after the kid had called him at 5:00 AM, asking for help hiding bottle rockets, and Armin certainly wouldn't call him tonight of all nights; they had exams tomorrow and he was determined to stay at the top of the class._ _

__Marco's hand scrambled for his glasses, efficiently knocking them off of his bedside table. _Contacts were so much nicer_ Marco thought, groaning. He scooped them from the ground before shoving them onto his face and glancing at the caller ID. _ _

__"Jean ...?" He mumbled. He hit accept. "Dude, why ...?" There was a shaky breath on the other end._ _

__"Marco?"_ _

__He blinked, and sat up. The covers slid off of his chest. "Jean?" He murmured, hoping that the tone of voice on the other end had been generated by some sort of fluke in the speaker. Because if it wasn't ..._ _

__"Marco, are you there?"_ _

___Something is wrong._ _ _

__Jean's voice sounded fluttery and tear-logged. Terrified, even. "Hey," Marco murmured, "hey, what happened? Are you alright?"_ _

__"C-can you pick me up?"_ _

__"Huh?!" Marco blinked, hard. "Dude, we have exams tomorrow, you need to get some-"_ _

__"Please!" Marco felt panic rising in his chest. Jean didn't get scared. Jean didn't come crying to his friends in the middle of the night. What on earth had happened?_ _

__"Okay, okay. Are you in a safe place right now?"_ _

__"Y-yeah, I guess." Jean stuttered out an address. Marco was already out of bed, throwing cloths on. Taking Levi's black Honda Civic wasn't an option; if Marco left a single stray skin cell in the car, Levi would notice. That left him with one option. "Jean, I'm going to hang up now. Call me again for anything, okay?"_ _

__"Uh-huh."_ _

__As he'd predicted, Hanji was downstairs. She often stayed up late into the night, working. Marco reached to open the door to her study, then hesitated; she wasn't going to be thrilled when he explained himself to her._ _

__Jean's hollow, distraught voice rang through Marco's head again. He gritted his teeth and pushed the door open._ _

__Hanji glanced up. Her owlish, brown eyes rested on Marco for just a moment before narrowing in confusion. "You're supposed to be asleep, kiddo," she said, setting down the scalpel in her hand. Marco glanced at her work table and grimaced. She was in the middle of dissecting something._ _

___Stay focused._ Marco clenched his fists and blurted, "I need to borrow Titan." _ _

__Titan was Hanji's motorcycle. No, he was more than that. Titan had been Hanji's obsession for years after she'd found its rusting carcass on the side of the road and had taken hold of the notion to fix it up. Titan took up the child position in Hanji's life more than Marco did._ _

__Hanji opened her mouth, but Marco cut her off, stuttering, "S-see, my friend called me, a-and he's-s pretty freaked out, and I know it's l-late and I know I should g-go back to bed, b-but-"_ _

__"Holy shit." Hanji was staring at him. Marco blinked, and glanced behind him to make sure Hanji wasn't staring at something in the doorway. There was nothing behind him, and he turned back in confusion. Hanji was smiling warmly. "Marco, you're actually acting like a normal teenager." Hanji clapped her hands to her cheeks. "This is so ... _surreal_."_ _

__"Can I or can I not use your bike?" Hanji hurled the keys at him, and he caught them just as the sentance finished its way from his lips._ _

__"Don't crash my fucking bike, kid." Marco stared at the keys in his cupped palms, before looking up and grinning at Hanji, who's eyes were on the table again. "Get outta here before I change my mind."_ _

__"I- thank you." Marco ran from the room, (pumping his fist in the air), up the stairs, through the front hall, and through the door that separated the hall and the garage. Titan, in all its glory, sat next to Levi's sleek black car, and Marco rushed over. He didn't have time to appreciate how nice this bike compared to everything else Hanji owned as he opened the garage door and slung his leg over Titan's side. The metal was incredibly smooth; he was moderately sure she polished it every time she rode it. He was careful to pull out of the garage as far from Levi's car as possible (leaving a scratch on it would mean certain death). The night air was muggy, still, and too hot. Marco revved the engine, regretted not putting on a helmet, and tore away from the house._ _

__His glasses bounced violently on his nose as he rode from the neighborhood. The street lights blurred into a yellow streak as he rushed down each street, nearing the Scout, then passing it. He passed a strip mall, than another. Then a strip _club_. Marco averted his eyes, shifting uncomfortably on the seat of the bike. _ _

__The address Jean had given him had to be somewhere around here. _Why wouldn't he ask to be picked up from his home, instead of here?_ Marco slowed and turned left into the parking lot of a large, lit up Walgreens. According to his cellphone, this was the right place, but Marco had had bad experiences with Google Maps before. He sat the bike in a parking space, and glanced about. _Maybe I got the address wrong,_ he thought, just as the doors to the store slid open. He look up at the figure that emerged, and felt his stomach twist. _ _

__"Marco?" Jean murmured. He looked pale. The name slipped from between his lips, riding on a croaky breath. Marco stepped forward, and before he knew what was happening, Jean had raced forward and pulled him into a tight embrace._ _

__Jean's body was trembling._ _

__His chest and arms were cold through his thin t-shirt._ _

__He felt tiny._ _

__"You're not hurt?" Marco murmured, and he felt Jean's head shift from side to side on his shoulder._ _

__"Can we go somewhere?" Jean asked quietly. Marco's fingers had closed around the the loose fabric on the back of Jean's t-shirt. He nodded._ _

__"The park's probably empty."_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__Marco was taller than him, Jean realized. Maybe by an inch or so. Marco's arms were thicker than his, too. He was like a warm, oversized, freckly teddy bear. "Jean." His voice was nice, too. "Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?"_ _

__Jean blinked. "No, why?" Marco glanced behind himself, and Jean's eyes widened. "Oh, you weren't joking when you said your mom rode a Harley Davidson."_ _

__Marco laughed nervous, and gently pried Jean from his chest. "No scratches, okay? She'll kill me."_ _

__"Sure." Marco trotted over. He felt strangely proud of the bike, though if wasn't his. He pulled out of the parking spot, then motioned for Jean to climb onto the back. He did, so hesitantly. Marco shivered when he felt Jean's arms wrap around his waist from behind. "I-I'm going to start the bike now, okay?"_ _

__"You don't have to baby me, Marco," came the response. Marco snorted, and revved the engine. Jean's arms tightened around him as the bike picked up, and then they were out of the parking lot. Suddenly, the arms on Marco's waist constricted like a vise. _I'm scaring him,_ Marco thought. "You okay?" He yelled. _ _

__Jean's head moved up and down on Marco's back. Marco wasn't even sure if he should believe him at this point, but if he slowed the pace of the bike, the cars behind him would get pissed. So, unable to do anything, Marco rode on._ _

__When he reached the parking lot at the edge of the park, Marco slowed and came to rest in a parking spot. He slipped off of Titan easily, and helped Jean slip off the back. Jean silently lead the way into the park, and Marco patiently trailed him until he slumped down on a bench by the path. The air was slightly colder here, and though street lights lined the trail, it was quite dark. Marco found it slightly eery. The breeze rustled with the breeze, and Marco almost flinched. He was tensing up, which wasn't the best quality when one was trying to comfort his crush._ _

__Jean sucked in a breath and murmured, "Are you alright?"_ _

__The question was so out of the blue that Marco turned to look him in the eye. Jean's eyes were wide and worried, searching Marco's face for any signs of harm. He looked _haggard._ "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Jean nodded. His gaze fell to the ground, but Marco grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Hey, come on, man. You're worrying me. What happened?" _ _

__Jean's eyes stayed glued to the ground. "I-I'm sorry for pulling you out h-here in the m-middle of the night-"_ _

__"Don't give me that!" Marco shook him again. "Hey! You called me to pick you up in the middle of the night, to do what? Don't you have a car of your own? Why do you need me to pick you up?" Marco was yelling now. He didn't want to yell at Jean. He loved Jean. "Come _on_ , what's going on?"_ _

__Jean's eyes were filled with tears when he looked up. Marco's grip on his shoulders loosened. "Oh," he murmured. "Oh, hey, don't do that," Jean snorted, "I-I'm sorr-ry, please d-don't-t-"_ _

__"It's fine. I'm fine."Jean sniffled, and Marco's heart broke at the sound. "I had a nightmare."_ _

__Marco blinked. _A nightmare fucked him up that badly?_ "D'you wanna talk about it?" _ _

__"Not really." Jean sighed, and it was empty in sound. "I'm sorry for-"_ _

"Don't apologize." Marco's hand rested gently on Jean'a shoulder. He was shivering again. Marco shifted closer to him. 

"Can I, uh-" Jean pointed at Marco's shoulder.

"Go ahead." Gratefully, Jean leaned against him. His cheek pressed against Marco's shoulder, and his hands fidgeted in his lap. Marco was warm, and when his large, tan hands curled around Jean's in their laps, it only made Jean want to cuddle deeper into his side.

_I think I might be in love this boy,_ each thought, but neither said anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm srry abt the 50% jokes


	11. Loftið verður skyndilega kalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY  
> LADIES THIS CHAPTER  
> AHAHAHAAHAHHAHAA  
> OKAY SO THERES A PARTY AT JEANS RIGHT  
> IF YOUVE READ ROMEO AND JULIET YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING

Marco pulled his hood down over his head, and adjusted the straps on his black book bag, the one he'd switched out for his backpack. The hall monitor gave him a look but Marco rushed past him before he could say a word.

_I can make it to first period,_ he thought. 

" _Heeeeeeey,_ Marco!" 

_Shit._ Marco picked up the pace. _Maybe he'd seen someone else. Mistaken them for me._  
A hand locked around his upper arm. Marco stopped walking, and closed his eyes. "Marco," came the teasing voice again. Marco sighed heavily. _I'm going to kill him,_ he thought, and turned. 

A grinning Eren stood behind him, accompanied closely by a sheepish-looking Armin. "Yes?" Marco asked.  
"You owe us a party invitation, my friend." Marco sighed again. He knew this was going to happen. There was no way of avoiding it, not even if he'd gotten through this day and avoided Armin and Eren. They would have gotten him the next day, or the next. 

"No, I don't," Marco tried to state this firmly, but he sounded tired, even to himself. Armin and Eren glanced at each other, then both of them rushed forward, grabbing Marco's arms. They hauled him backward into an empty classroom, of which Eren kicked the door closed.  
"Listen, Marco. I don't wanna have to bully you, because I know who your dad is, and he's scary as hell. I'm just _saying_ , it would be lovely if-" 

"It would mean getting an upper hand on the Capulets," Armin interjected. "We would get to scout out the neighborhood. Think of the advantages that that would give us during Halloween." Every Halloween, Eren, Armin, Reiner, and a few other Montagues would run through the Capulet neighborhood and egg everything in sight. Marco had joined them for the first time last year, and thought it was slightly against his conscience, he had to admit that it was rather fun. 

_No._

Marco twirled and made a dash for the window. The pane was just slighty open, and he smacked it wider. "No-" Eren squawked as Marco jumped and slid through. He landed on the ground, rolled, and began to sprint down the side of the school. Behind him, he heard Eren yelling his name and his feet pounding on the grass. Mr. Leonard's classroom was a few windows down; Marco jumped, and caught the open window sill with his hands. He hoisted himself up as fast as he could, scrapping his ribs through his thin t-shirt.

Eren's hand wrapped around Marco's ankle and with a shriek, he fell from the window sill. The ground few up to meet his back and the wind flew from Marco's chest. He curled onto his side, wheezing, and Eren stared over him triumphantly. "We're not going to stop bothering you until you say yes," he stated firmly. 

Armin, who had appeared over Marco a few moments later, blinked, and turned to Eren. "W-we're not?" 

"Nope."

Marco groaned. _I can't go all week with them on my tail. I have finals, for God's sake._

"I can get you in, alright?" Eren whooped and smacked Armin a high-five. "But you're _not_ getting us into trouble. No drawing attention to yourself." 

"Oh, yeah. Of course not. This is an in and out mission." Marco coughed, and his lungs recovered themselves. Armin offered him and a hand, which he grudgingly took. 

"It's on the last day of school, yeah?" He asked. 

"Yep!" Armin chirped. His bright blue eyes glowed with gratitude, and Marco felt his anger ebb slightly. 

_I'm going to regret this,_ Marco thought.

~•~

_I regret this,_ Marco thought, fitting a Phantom of the Opera mask over his face. 

Oh, how the week had drained away once Marco had something it dread at the end of it. Before he knew it, there were seniors sobbing in the halls, kissing their friends goodbye. He stared into the mirror and smoothed his hair somewhat into what Jean had created at his last trip to the north side of town. Armin had somehow egged him into wearing a bow tie, which he adjusted now. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, and he wore black pants. 

"Hey, Marco!" Eren's voice filtered through the door a moment before he kicked it open. There was a rubber horse mask over his head. "I'm going as your boyfriend!" 

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Marco has a boyfriend?" A higher, feminine voice came down the hall before Carla Jaeger's head burst through the door. Her face was like a copied and pasted version of Eren's, but with higher cheek bones and larger, yellower eyes. "What's his name?"

"I said, he's not my-"

"His name is Jean," Eren pronounced it like 'John', "and he-"

" _Shut up, Eren!_ " Carla and Eren cackled as Marco's cheeks flushed.  
Carla was a Cool Mom™. Hanji could have made the cut, but Carla was the complete image. She bought eggs for Halloween. When Marco was eleven, she'd snuck him and Armin into an R-rated movie. She kept Eren Jaeger from getting killed, which was quite the feat, in Marco's experience. 

"Marco?" Armin stuck his head in. A cheap green masquerade mask covered his upper cheeks. "Are you ready?"  
"Yeah," he said, ducking past the two Jaegers. Mikasa stuck her head out of her room. A thin line of brown and pink makeup dotted her cheekbones. Marco had forgotten she even wore makeup. "Mikasa, are you coming, too?"

"No. I've got work." She disappeared back into her room. The green apron of her Starbucks uniform slipped through the frame before the door closed. 

Marco fiddled with the edge of his shirt. "How are we getting there?" 

"Mike." As if on queue, the sound of gravel crunching in the drive way echoed quietly through the house. "He's here."  
"Don't drink anything, okay?" Carla yelled out the door after them. "Beer is terrible at under age parties!" 

Eren flashed her a thumbs up. "It's not like I could drink anything through this mask," he muttered. Armin tittered quietly, but Marco couldn't bring himself to make any sound. He felt sick to the stomach. _I so regret this._  
"Thanks for driving us," Armin chirped as he entered the car. Eren slid in after him, and Marco after him. He counted the freckles that had begun to lace themselves down the tops of his palms.  
Mike didn't talk much. He wasn't a talker. The only words that he spoke were. "Later," when the car stopped and Armin said goodbye. Gold light streamed into the car when Eren pushed the door open. Marco stared at it, squirming.  
_They're screwed if they're found out._

"Hey, rise and shine, asshole!" Eren's hand clamped around Marco's forearm and hauled him from the car. Marco yelped. 

As Eren pulled him toward the house, Marco stuttered squeakily, "Eren, this really isn't a good idea, I mean if they find out who we are- who _I_ am-" 

"Relax, lover boy, we'll be fine as long as the masks stay on." Eren and Armin merged into a large crown of costumed teenagers as they began to pass through the high iron gate. Marco shot one desperate glance back at Mike, but he was already gone, his spot replaced by an Uber. Before he could further protest, Armin had pushed him through. Someone jostled him to the side and Marco clasped his hands to his mask so that it wouldn't fall off.

"A-Armin?" He called, but the little blonde boy was nowhere in sight. Neither was Eren. 

_Shit._

~•~

Sasha shoved a pickle into her mouth and wished for death. 

She didn't like parties. The only reason Sasha had stuck around was the food, which was all she really needed in life. Large groups of people made her uncomfortable. 

_"I know who the Montague kid is!" Connie's face was happier than Sasha had seen him in days. So close to her, until she could smell the PowerAid on his breath. "I saw him on Hanji Zoe's motorcycle the other night. Sasha, it's Marco Bott, than freckly kid from school."  
Sasha blinked "Seriously? Why isn't everyone going nuts?" _

_"No one else believes me! I'm not technically supposed to know about the crazy lady's ride, but it's the nicest looking bike I've ever seen!"_

Sasha grimaced, and swallowed the pickle, which she'd chewed to relish in her thought. _Marco is a friend of Jean's,_ she thought. That was worrying. It wasn't as if a Capulet had never been friends with a Montague, _ever_ , but it was quite unheard of. Not only that, but Jean was the heir to the Capulet family, and by the sound of it, so was Marco.

_Yikes._

A drunk kid with a pink fringe jostled her, and liquor splashed across her shirt.  
"Hey, asshole!" Sasha glanced over. "Watch it!"

"Leave him alone, Connie," she muttered, gently shoving his shoulder. Connie rolled his eyes. The top of his shirt had been slightly unbuttoned, and he smelled. Though he stood straight, and his words weren't slurred, Sasha could tell he'd had a few. He only clenched his jaw when he was trying to act sober. Sasha slung an arm around his shoulder and felt him lean into her. 

"Jean!" She didn't flinch, but it was a close call. The younger man had pushed himself through the crowd, and waved at them as he reached the kitchen. 

_Speak of the devil_ , Sasha thought. _Or, think of the devil. Something like that._

"Hey, Sasha." Jean opened the refrigerator and yanked a beer from the contents. He popped open and tipped his head back, letting the light yellow contents pour into his mouth.

"You do realize I'm gonna have to clean every thing once the party's over, right?" Jean cringed, and took another long swig to avoid eye contact. Sasha glared at him. "You could try and help for once. What are you supposed to be dressed as, anyway?" 

"I'm the host, I don't have to ..." Jean trailed off, staring off into the crowd. "Gimme a minute." He drank once more, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and strode quickly away. 

Sasha and Connie glanced at each other, then set off after him. 

~•~

Marco had just about caught up to Armin, who had settled next to the stairs, when a hand clamped firmly around his upper arm. 

His first thought was _fuckity shit fucking fuck _, and he popped his shoulder, whirling it around to throw off the attacker. He spun on his heel to face whoever it was, and his stomach did a funny little flip-flop. "J-Jean?"__

Jean's expression was unreadable as he dragged Marco away, up the stairs, (Armin's eyes followed him up, a small smile resting on his lips) into a spare room, and closed the door behind himself.

"So, Jean. Didn't expect to see you here." Marco stuttered, pulling his mask off. The room was dark, but Marco could make out the silhouette of a desk and a bed.

"It's dangerous for you to be here," Jean whispered, and Marco shivered, for his voice was low and husky. His eyes were glittering with indecision. 

 

"Y-yeah, well, see, Armin and Eren w-wanted me to get them in, 'cause somehow they found-d out t-that you got me into a party around h-here, so-"<

Jean chuckled."You're really cute when you're nervous."

 

Marco's cheeks flushed. "Huh?"

Jean grabbed him by his collar and kissed him.

 

Marco froze.  
 _No_  
Fucking  
Way. 

 

His hands were trembling, but they somehow found places to hook in Jean's perfect rich-white-kid hair and dragged through it. _No fucking way._ Jean's hands stayed at his collar, and Marco could feel the flesh of his neck growing hot under his hands. _Holy shit._ Jean's lips tasted like beer and Chapstick.

He tipped his head forward, so that their lips disconnected. "J-Jean-n," he mumbled quietly, "why'd-d you do that?"

"I'm a little drunk," Jean swallowed, "and I like you."

_Oh._

He'd assumed Jean was straight. No, he hadn't assumed, he'd _known_ was straight. Jean wasn't even a pinprick on Marco's gaydar. _Did I turn someone? Is that even a thing?_

"I like you too-ooohoo, oh man." Marco's breath quickened as Jean's hands trailed down his stomach. Their lips connected again, and Marco gasped as he felt his mouth opening against Jean's, and his tongue slip across Marco's lips. One of Jean's fingers ran under the hem of his t-shirt, and a tiny sound of surprise escaped his lips.

Marco had been kissed before, but he'd never been _made out_ with before. _What if I'm boring? What do I do?_ He pulled back again. "Jean, I don't know how to do this-" he gasped as Jean's kisses moved from his mouth to his jawline. "S-shit," he whispered. Jean's finger pried at the buttons on his shirt, and Marco popped them open, until his shirt hung from his from his elbows, and the hot air in the room caressed his chest. Jean pulled away from him for just a moment, and his face was flushed and smiling. His eyes were lower lustily to half mass, and they trailed down Marco's body, from his face, to his lips, and down his chest.

But then, his face changed, just slightly.

"Marco?"

Jean's gaze as one to a halt on his chest. Marco blinked in confusion, then looked down. Then froze.

The tattoo. He'd forgotten.

When he looked up to meet Jean's eyes, there wasn't any anger in his gaze. Only confusion, and hurt. Which was so much worse.

His family name, in tiny print, under his pectoral. _What a stupid idea it had been_ , he thought. 

"Marco, what's with the tattoo?"

_Is there any way to play this off?_ Marco's throat felt dry. "I'm ... I'm sorry." He managed to croak out.

Jean's lip wobbled, his eyes sparkled slightly. "You're a-"

The door flew open, cutting off his words. Sasha stood in the doorway. Jean watched her expression melt from confusion to disbelief to terror. Marco's shirt was off, after all, and Jean's hair was messy, and they were still kind of pressed up against each other. With a voice that seemed to Jean to come from the center of the earth, she spat: "Jean Kirstien Capulet, you are in _so_ much trouble."

Marco turned back to Jean. "You're a-!"<

"No time! The cops are here." Sasha grabbed Jean by the wrist, and began to drag him from the room. "You're going to have to explain the alcohol and teenagers in your house to them. And you," she turned back to Marco, and her eyes were sorry, in the moment, "you should get out of here before Connie finds you. He knows who you are." With that, she left, Jean in tow. The two exchanged a glance before Marco left Jean's line of sight. Marco's dark amber gaze was stricken and sad.

"Oh," he whispered, and swayed. A chair had been set next to a small desk in the corner. Marco placed a hand on it to keep from falling over. It felt as if the room had been flipped upside down, or as if Marco himself had been slapped across the face. Really hard.

_Jean's a_ Capulet.

_And now he knows that I'm a Montague._

Marco could still feel a ghost of Jean's mouth, pressing hot and desperate to his, and he ran is hand over his lips, trying to scrub him off. Not only was Jean a Capulet, but he was a Capulet that lived in _this house._ This was The Capulet house, the one everyone knew about. He wasn't some distant second cousin of the Capulets, he was in direct relation to them. A cousin, probably.

The door burst open. "Marco! Marco?" Armin blinked and waved at him hesitantly. "What happened?"

"J-Jean, he's a-"

_No, they'll hurt him._

_And why do I care? He's a Capulet._ Marco shook his head. Memories flashed before his eyes, against his will, _no, I don't want to remember, he's one of_ them.

He was one of them, and he had a beautiful smile and a sharp wit and dirty sense of humor, and soft hair, and _I'm so totally in love with him, shit._

Tears stung Marco's eyes when he looked up at Armin. "Let's just get out of here," he whispered hoarsely. "Where's Eren?"

"He's already gone, probably." Armin chuckled, but his eyes were worried. "We'll talk when we get out."

"No, we won't." Marco strode across the room and heaved a window on the other side open. His shirt still rippled in either side of his chest, and he quickly buttoned it up, before clambering out the window. There were only window sills as hand holds out here, but Marco scaled the wall nimbly enough. He felt trembly, as though waves of adrenaline were coursing through him, but he kept his hands clamped onto the windows well enough that he didn't slip. When the ground seemed close enough, he jumped.

The contact with the ground hurt, and Marco cried out slightly. "You alright?" Armin asked cautiously. He nodded and the two sprinted away from the back of the house, around a large blue swimming pool. Marco's reflection stared back at him in the glassy surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH


	12. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE GAYS ARE BEJNG CUTE AND ANGSTY, I AM DROWNING JN SCHOOL WORK, AND CONNIE PLOTS REVENGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't copy the pool idea from the DeCaprio version shut up

After the police left, Jean climbed up to his room. He dragged his feet as he ascended, then shut the door quietly behind himself. He stared at his bed, considering sitting down, but the air in the room seemed far too warm, and he found himself rushing across it, and throwing open the doors to the balcony. The air outside was cool. Jean leaned down, resting his elbows onto the railing. He looked peacefully out at the city. Then his face crumpled and he began to cry. 

He cried until his knees felt weak and he crumpled to the ground, gripping the railing. This didn't help, because his chest was compressed by his knees, which had been pulled to his chest. Once his breathing returned to a near-normal pace, the collar of his shirt was completely soaked. Jean sniffled. "Oh, Marco," he muttered, and though the name brought on another bout of emotion, he was able to stifle a second bout of tears. "Oh, Marco." _Marco, Marco, Marco._

"J-Jean?" Jean flinched. 

"Who's there?" 

"I-it's just m-me ..." There was a loud sloshing as a dark figure emerged from the pool. The lights from the pool illuminated the figure's freckled arms. 

"Marco?" Jean scrambled to the edge of the balcony, and leaned over. "Dude, why are you still here?" 

"I wanted to see you." Marco dragged himself from the pool. His cloths clung to his body, and his hair dripped steadily into his eyes, stinging them with chlorine. 

"You can't be here, it isn't safe. And why were you in the pool?" 

"Unconventional hiding spots 101." Marco marched across the lawn. Jean felt panic rising in his chest. "Marco, go home."

"No." Marco's voice was quiet, but firm. When he reached the edge of Jean's house, he jumped, and latched onto a window sill. "I have to-" he grunted, hauling himself up until he could sit on the window sill, "-insist on this, Jean." He stood on the sill, and felt it creak under his weight. 

Jean glared as a hand clasped the edge of his balcony, then glared at the other hooked onto the railing. He heard Marco give a small "hah!" as he swung himself upward. 

"Go home." Marco swung his knee up and then his other, until he was kneeling on the outer edge of the balcony. He stood, and grasped the edge of the railing to keep from falling backward. His gaze was guarded, but gentle. Gentle and warm. 

"I said, go _home_ ," Jean yelled the last word, and to his dismay, Marco flinched.

"If you want me to go, push me off." 

Jean's eyes widened. "What?"

"It's only about two stories down. I've survived falls higher than that before. So if you want me gone, push me off." Jean gritted his teeth. Marco sounded so trusting of him. Jean stepped forward, and placed the flat of his palm against Marco's chest. He could feel the warmth of Marco's skin through his soaked shirt and the faint pulse of his heart beat. Jean imagined the look in Marco's eyes as he fell backward. He imagined the sickening thud as he hit the ground. 

_I can't._

"You lied to me," he whispered. He couldn't bear to look at Marco, so he hung his head and looked at the concrete. 

"I'm sorry," Marco answered. "Truly."

Jean clenched his jaw. _Is he really?_ "Your people have killed my people." 

Jean felt Marco take a deep breath. "I haven't, if it helps any." 

"I don't know if I can trust you." 

"I'm so sorry."

"Are you?"

 _Of course he is,_ Jean realized with a jolt. _This is Marco. What's more is he won't even throw anything back at me. He's just laying down and taking it_.

"I lied, too. I'm sorry." 

Marco shook his head. "I should've-" 

"No, don't do that." Jean's hand flew up from Marco's chest to his mouth. His stomach fluttered at the feeling of Marco's lips pressed to his palm. "It's on both of us." His voice cracked at the last word, and he stared back down at the ground. 

Marco caught his wrist and gently moved the hand over his mouth. "Do ... do wanna go back to being friends?" Jean swallowed, trying to hinder the rising knot in his throat. "Like, without the kissing, or-"

"No, no, no ..." Jean felt like he was going to cry again. He really needed to quite doing that around Marco. "That sounds stupid, and Marco, I-I really like you."

Marco blinked. "I really- I mean, m-me too." Jean heaved a tired small. "I really thought you were straight, though, I mean, when I first met you."

"Jesus, I thought I was straight before I met you, too." They both laughed at that, but it was brief and unfeeling. There was a long silence, before Jean gave a small, senseless chuckle. Marco glanced at up, and Jean wiped at a singular year that had escaped at the corner of his eye. 

"Jean." Marco swung his legs over the railing, and pulled him into his arms. Jean silently pressed his face to Marco's shoulder, and though he didn't cry anymore, he clung to Marco tightly. He smelled like Pantene shampoo and chlorine. "We'll work things out, alright?" 

"Yeah," Jean answered. Marco's arms around him made him feel tiny. He was only a bit shorter than Marco, but he was scrawny, to say the least. Marco's shoulders were broader than his, and his arms were muscular and thick. When Jean traced his fingers across Marco's back, he found muscles there, as well.

"I got you all wet," Marco murmured. "I'm s-"

Jean kissed him. It wasn't like before; there was no lust in it. Marco's hands gently cupped Jean's cheeks. Jean kept his arms locked around Marco's back. Jean fit perfectly against his chest, as if he'd been built to rest there. Marco parted slightly, and then Jean felt lips caressing his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, which made him giggle. "You're adorable," Marco murmured. 

"I know, right?" Marco laughed softly, and Jean felt his chest spasm with it. "Hey, Marco?" 

"Yeah?"

"I love you." 

Jean felt Marco tense just slightly. "Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"I mean it."

"Then-" Far off in the house, a door slammed. Both of the boys flinched. 

Loud footsteps on the stairs up to the second floor. "Jean?" Sasha's voice echoed through the interior of the house.

Marco's eyes widened in panic. "Who's that?"

"Sasha, she's the house keeper, she's the one that-"

"Caught us before. Got it." Marco hastily threw his legs over the railing. "Jean?" 

Jean's eyes were glued anxiously to the door, but he glanced over to Marco. "Yeah?" 

Marco's finger's gently brushed the underneath of Jean's jaw, but the tiny touch somehow dragged him forward until his face was barely an inch from Marco's. Jean's breath shuddered in his chest. 

"Love you, too," Marco whispered, and then he fell and was gone.

Jean stared forward at the space where the heir to the Montague family had been moments before. "Holy shit," he whispered. 

"What?" Jean jumped. Sasha stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. 

"Nothing," Jean spat out, probably a bit too quickly. Sasha raised an eyebrow at him, but turned to leave.

"Sasha?"

"Mmm?"

"You're not going to tell Connie I was making out with son of the leader of the guys we hate, right?"

Sasha chuckled. "You're still useful to me alive." Jean blinked at her. "No, I won't tell him."

Jean sighed in relief. "Thanks, Sasha." 

"Go to bed." She shut the door forcefully, leaving Jean to stare out at the neighborhood. For once, he didn't dislike the look of it.

~•~

Deep in the mansion, Connie stalked back and forth in his room, seething. 

Armin Arlert had been here tonight. That tiny, elf looking fuck had no right to enter a Capulet house. Hell, he had no right be on this side of the town. Connie's hands clenched and unclenched. 

How could he beat the Montagues, once and for all? How could he make the world laugh at the idiot bastards who wanted to bring shame and disgrace to his family? 

Connie wasn't a bad guy, you see; his sense of loyalty was strong, stronger than Jean's and Sasha's. Connie only knew the side of the story where the Montagues had beaten up Thomas, and countless other members of the family. So Connie paced, back and forth.

As Connie paced, so did Ymir, up in her bedroom. The covers of the bed had been carefully tucked back around a sleeping Historia when Ymir had thrown them off to get up.

Part of her need to move was withdrawal; the look on Historia's face whenever she saw Ymir with a cigarette between her lips had been too much for her, and for the third time, she was attempting to quit. Unfortunately, the lack of nicotine in her system was keeping her up. 

The other piece of anxiety in Ymir's life were the drugs in the basement. Not fear of being caught with them, for she'd already set up a gas system, accessible from anywhere in the house, that would set the place ablaze at the flick of a switch. No, she was worried about the sleeping drug she'd devised. She worried because it worked really, really well. At least on the big fat sewers rats she'd tried it on. Animal testing past that wasn't something she invested in because of cruelty reasons, but there was a part of her that wanted to get something bigger, like a cow. 

The rats generally slept for about one day. Their hearts would beat about every minute. Their brain functions slowed considerably, or at least, they were supposed to, for the lack of oxygen to the brain would certainly kill brain cells if there was too much activity. A tiny amouth of time capsule drug was left in the creature's inactive digestive system, waiting to be slowly broken down by the rat's stomach acid. The substance that it released jolted the rat awake. Ymir wasn't sure how many brain cells she'd killed by putting it to sleep for so long, but the rats looked dazed after their rest and wobbled around in their cages for hours after waking up. 

"Ymir?" Historia sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Ymir froze.

"Fuck, aw shit," Ymir ran a hand through her hair. "Hey, babe, did I wake you up?"

"Come back to bed." Ymir nodded and padded over. Their bed was just an air mattress on a cheap bed frame, and it barely fit both of them. Historia sat with her legs crossed and Ymir flopped down in front of her, crossing her heels behind her girlfriend. "You worried about something?" Historia asked.

"Nah, it's the the withdrawl. It'll be over in a day or somethin'." This wasn't true, Ymir would probably feel the need for a cigarette for weeks before it began to ebb, but she didn't want to worry Historia. The tiny girl clasped Ymir's hands in her own and kissed them. Ymir giggled softly. The kisses moved from her hands to her cheeks, then her forehead, her nose, and then finally her lips. "Go to sleep," Historia commanded gently. 

"Yessir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can y'all comment criticism because I am really insecure and want to know everything you dislike about this story  
> Or just comment in general I feel like no one reads my fics


	13. Rosée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean go on a sort of date, Mikasa is the reluctant mom friend, and then shit gets serious when a gun fight breaks out in Montague territory. Armin and Eren find a troubling letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I know I never update this story but between my homework and my editors homework we're a bit busy. I loved all the comments on the last chapter, it was really motivating, thank you so much.

Three weeks later, Marco sat at the counter of the Scout. He swirled the ice in his orange Fanta around with his straw, and wished for the door of the restaurant to open. He glanced anxiously down at his phone, hoping for _a text back, come on, Jean, just one text back._ They'd made plans to hang out about a week earlier, but when Marco had texted again to check in, Jean had given him no reply. This was strange, because Jean always had his phone on vibrate and he generally answered his texts at record speeds.

Marco was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly noticed as his boyfriend flopped down next to him. "Hey," he muttered.

Marco glanced over, and frowned. Jean's brow was creased. His gaze was fixed downward and dark. "You look beat." 

Jean sighed, and slumped over. His head landed on Marco's shoulder, and there he stayed, leaning a good part of his weight onto his boyfriend. An uncertain looking waitress walked up to them. "Hi, welcome to-" Marco shook his head at her silently, and she nodded, before slipping away into the kitchen. Marco reached over to Jean's hand, who gratefully lanced their fingers together. Jean's palms were sticky with half-dried sweat, which wasn't normal. "You alright?" Marco asked. 

Jean didn't know how to explain that his father was (currently, it would probably be someone else the next day,) trying to marry him off to a rich woman twice his age from Virginia. He replied quietly, "My dad's a dick." 

Marco's thumb, as if on autopilot, had begun to rub circles on Jean's hand. "We can get out of here, if you like. We could go to the park or something."

"Nah," Jean groaned, wrenching himself into an upright position, "I'm hungry." He waved at the waitress behind the counter, who scuttled over. He placed his order. Marco's eyes followed him the whole time, anxiously taking in and analyzing his movements. He was tired, that was obvious, but it was only 10:45. What had he been doing so early in the day?

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" Jean shrugged. Marco raised an eyebrow. "When'd you go to sleep?" 

"Like, 2:00 AM?"

"And when'd you wake up?" 

Jean leaned over and kissed him softly. Even after countless kisses and three weeks worth of dates, it still took Marco's breath away. "You don't have to worry about me," Jean murmured. His eyes were sincere. "I'm okay." 

Marco nodded. "Okay." He still couldn't ignore the circles under his boyfriend's eyes, but he said nothing, and took a long sip of his soda. The ice cubes in his cup rattled and his straw gurgled as he reached the end of it. 

There was no more talk as Jean began to eat. He barely breathed in between bites, and his cheeseburger was gone in under two minutes. In five minutes, so was the mound of fries that had come as a side. "Jesus," Marco muttered. 

"I feel better now," Jean said, cramming the last of his fries into his mouth. Marco snorted. 

"Do you ever get sick of hamburgers?"

"What, after a life-time of fancy food, all-day-every-day? No." Jean started on his soda. Marco's eyes drifted down to his lips, and then to his throat. Jean cleared his throat, and Marco's gaze darted back up to his eyes. Jean wiggled his eyebrows, and Marco felt his cheeks burn. "Where d'you wanna go after you're done eating?"

"Mmm, I dunno. We could just drive around." 

"That sounds nice," Marco waved the waitress over, and in turn she handed him a bill. "I'll pay."

"You don't have a credit card, Marco." Jean yanked his wallet from his pocket. Marco sighed and shoved his cash back into his pocket.

A few moments later, Jean and Marco exited the restaurant. Jean unlocked his car and Marco gingerly opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. They'd driven together multiple times, but Jean's car was definitely the nicest that Marco had ever been in. It wasn't perfectly clean like Levi's, but it had probably cost about twice as much, and that made him anxious not to mess anything up. Jean slid into the front seat, and Marco heard the foam inside of the seats sigh as Jean's weight fell onto it. Marco turned the radio on as they pulled out of the parking lot. Jean stared out at the road. Marco stared at Jean, tracing the outline of his face with his eyes. 

The car came to a sudden hault, and Marco glanced up. The car had hauled in the park lot of an old craft store. "Why'd you stop?" He asked.

Jean seemed to start forward, then stop himself. "Do ... d'you wanna make out?" Marco blinked. "S-Sasha said that asking is better than just kissing you out of nowhere."

Marco stared at him for a beat, and then he giggled. Jean's face was red. "What?" He asked indignantly.

"You look _terrified!_ " Jean's lips twitched.

"But, like, _do you-_ "

"I cannot name one time in the past month that I haven't wanted to make out with you." 

"Oh, good." Jean crawled the over the middle console of the car and sat on Marco's lap. Heat rushed to Marco's face immediately; Jean's eyes seemed to be glowing in the hazy light inside the car. 

"You're so pretty," he told Jean, swiping a hair off of his forehead. 

"Am I?" Jean responded. He batted his lashes. His hands traveled up Marco's chest slowly, before sliding over Marco's shoulders to hang. Marco capturing Jean's face in his hands and pulling him down to meet him. 

~•~

Mikasa had just finished her run. Out of breath, she pulled open the front door. 

Dead silence in the house. 

Mikasa tossed the thought aside and walked quickly down the hall to her room. There, she threw her water bottle and sneakers, before grabbing a fresh change of cloths and heading toward the bathroom. A shower sounded like the best thing in the world at the moment. 

As she passed Eren's room, she stopped, and pressed her ear to the door. 

At first, she caught nothing, and a brief wave of relief washed over her; _there would be no bullshit to take-_ a hushed, "Is she gone?" Echoed through the door. "We have to deal with this quickly." 

_Oh, fuck,_ she thought, and slammed her shoulder against the door, knocking it open. 

Armin, Eren, and Marco's panicked eyes flicked up to her. Armin had a scarf in his hands and was sitting next to Marco, who was shirtless. Eren had been desperately rummaging through his shirts when Mikasa entered. She looked over each one of them in turn, before her gaze settled on Marco. 

"Jesus Crist," she exclaimed. 

His neck and upper chest were speckled with bruises. They were all about the same size, and there were at least seven on his throat alone. Mikasa strode across the room to get a better look. "Did you have sex with a fucking leech?" 

Marco's face had blossomed a brilliant shade of scarlet. There was a lone hickey that she hadn't spotted, behind his ear. _Dude._ Mikasa dragged Eren's swivel chair across the room and flopped down in it. "When did this happen?" she asked sternly. 

"This morning," Marco muttered, averting his eyes.

"In the parking lot behind that one abandoned Micheal's, around 11:30 AM," Armin reported stoutly. 

Mikasa stared Marco in the face. "You need to be able to say no to your partner, or else it's considered an abusive relationship."

Marco flinched and looked up. "Wait, it wasn't like that!"

"We didn't hear any no-s, actually," Eren commented. "There were a lot of yes-s, but no no-s." 

"Eren!" Marco yelled. Eren cackled, and Marco buried his face in his hands. Mikasa rubbed a hand over her mouth. She liked Marco; he was a nice guy, not to mention the heir to the head of the gang she was technically part of. Still, _why do I have to help him?_

"I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to help. Armin, put the scarf away. I can help, but I need you to trust me." She directed the last statement at Marco, who nodded. He hung his head to avoid Armin and Eren's accusing gazes. 

In the bathroom, Mikasa slipped off her sweaty hoodie and examined her own bruises. There were only three on her collar bone, which were the ones she had to worry about. No one else would see the large one on her left breast, besides Annie, who didn't matter, since she was the one who'd left it there. All three were fading quickly, as most of Mikasa's bruises did. It was a good thing too, for the makeup she needed for covering them was expensive and Carla would only give her frequent Sephora visits the benefit of the doubt for so long. 

She showered, and changed. _Covering Marco's bruises might require a trip to the store,_ Mikasa thought, walking across the hall to her room. She dug through her makeup drawer for the things she would need, and then saluted herself in having bought Eren's shade of concealer for when he'd needed to cover a black eye for the first day of school photo. The shade she used personally was much too light for Marco.

"Oh no," Marco said as Mikasa entered, holding her makeup bag. 

"Oh, yes." She replied. "Sit still." Marco glanced at Eren, who nodded. "It's best like this. She's good, don't worry. No one'll notice." 

"I don't wanna- ah!" He gave a small shriek as something cold and wet touched his neck. He turned to Mikasa, who stared at him stoically. "Did you just lick me?" 

She rolled her eyes. "No, dumbass. Sit still or I'll 'accidentally' use the shitty concealer that melts off in the middle of the day."

Marco paled slightly. Mikasa picked up another product. "Are you seriously gonna put that on me?" He asked. "It's green." 

"It's color correction," Eren explained. "Your hickeys are pink, so green cancels out the color and keeps it from showing through the concealer."

"How do you know that?"

"I've had my fair share of things I need to cover. I can do it quite well myself now." 

Marco blinked. "Wait, didn't you refuse to let Mikasa do your makeup because it wasn't manly, back when Connie beat you up?" 

Eren shook his head. "That was different. If Connie had seen me all perfect looking after that, he would have actually _known_ I was wearing makeup. Besides, my skin cracked when he punched me. Foundation doesn't blend good around cracked skin." 

"Blend _well_ ,"Mikasa corrected.

"Fuck off." 

Marco glanced down. Mikasa was dipping a fluffy brush in a flat tin filled with powder. "Are you almost done?"

The two siblings cracked up. "Unless we both work on you, you might be here for several hours."

Marco stared at them in disbelief. "Seriously?" Eren nodded. 

"Better get comfy." 

~•~

Marco stared at his neck in the mirror of the bathroom. He was afraid to touch it. There was a certain feeling to it, like there was a coat of wax over that portion of his neck. It bugged him, because it didn't look like anything. In fact, the makeup was almost perfect. He couldn't tell that it was there at all. 

"Marco?" He flinched. It had been impossible to make an excuse not to come to the table, for Levi's mind was made up about having a family dinner. Marco took deep breaths. Getting nervous wasn't an option, because when Marco got nervous, he sweated. Mikasa had promised that the makeup was completely water and sweat proof, but Marco was skeptical. 

"Coming." Marco almost splashed his face with water, then bit his knuckle, _Dumbass._

Marco didn't meet anyone's eyes when he sat down. He stared down at his food, and once Hanji's chair scraped back, he dug in. With anyone else, Marco wouldn't have been nervous. Mikasa had done a splendid job. But this was Levi Ackerman, and Hanji Zoe, one of a kind geniuses. 

"What'd you do today?" Levi asked. 

Marco looked up, and Levi placed a tiny bit of food into his mouth. To keep the food from smearing all over his face, Levi ate in tiny, bite sized portions. "Not much," Marco answered, through a mouthful of salad. "Hung around with Armin and Eren."

"They didn't drag you into anything, I hope," Hanji murmured. 

Marco shook his head. "No, not today." 

"Armin's pretty level headed, isn't he?" Levi wiped his mouth, leaving a minuscule smear of sauce on his napkin. Marco nodded. His plate half empty now; only a few bites left, and then freedom. With this new bit of adrenaline, he began to eat even faster. Levi's eyes narrowed. 

"Why're you eating so fast?"

Marco felt his spirits deflate and his face grow slightly hot. "I'm hungry."

"Didn't you go out for burgers with your friends? Did Eren steal your fries again?"

Hanji cleared her throat. "Quite grilling him, Levi. He's a growing boy, they eat a lot." Marco nodded distractedly and, summoning his courage, he glanced up. 

Levi's eyes were glued to a spot on his throat. _Shit,_ Marco mentally screamed. _Shit, shit, shit, shit-_

Levi's phone rang. They all sat up a bit straighter. Levi's ringtone changed when certain numbers called it, and this wasn't the regular one. The gang leader stood and yanked the device from his pocket. "Hello?" 

There was a dreadfully long pause. 

"Yes. I understand." Another pause. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"What's up?" Hanji murmured, but Levi was already across the room. "Levi?" Marco watched as she ran down the hall. Hanji disappeared into the room that the two of them shared. Hushed whispers echoed from inside, before a long period of silence. Then, Levi burst out again, accompanied by Hanji. "We'll be back in a few hours. Lock the doors, keep away from the windows, understand?" 

"What's going on?" Marco asked, rising. 

"There was a negotiation tonight," Hanji slid on her motorcycle jacket and grabbed a helmet from the closet by the door, "and apparently, something went wrong."

Marco clenched his jaw. "Negotiations" usually meant arms deals, so if they went wrong, they went wrong in the messy way. "I want to help." 

"Then get the medical kit from Hanji's lab and set it up in the living room," Levi said. His eyes were narrowed and dark. "We'll be back in a few hours. Don't call me." With that, the door to the garage slammed shut. Marco stared at the door. His fists clenched and unclenched. 

~•~

Eren and Armin sat cross legged in the basement of Armin's apartment. Gunshots crackled through the air above them, but down here, they sounded like the pops of confetti. Eren trembled just slightly each time the noise reached him, knowing that Mikasa, his mother and his father were participating. "They'll be fine," Armin murmured, out of the blue. He was smiling slightly, but his eyes were worried and dark. 

"What should we do about this?" Eren asked, and he held a letter up to the dim light. The envelope it had been sealed in lay torn on the ground. "Connie's so damn dramatic, we wouldn't have caught this if he'd just emailed it or something."

The letter stated a time and place, and requested Marco's presence. Armin had recognized Connie's hand writing when he's spied the front. He worked at the post office during the summer, partially for the money and partially because Levi had told him to watch any mail being sent to the Montague household. He'd rushed to Eren upon opening it, but once the gun fight outside had broken out, they'd ran.

"We can't let Marco go." Armin stated flatly, and Eren nodded. Marco knew how to fight, but he'd never liked participating in the feud, and now he was in a relationship with Jean. "Hurting someone close to Jean would tear him apart." 

"You knew about Jean?" Armin nodded. It hadn't been obvious, but when they'd gotten to party, Armin had recognized the car in the drive way as the one that Jean got into on his way back from school. That and he'd seemed to know the house quite well, as if he'd spent a good amount of time in it. Eren had figured it out because the rich boys at school flocked around Jean in a weirdly protective manner, the same way that the Montagues flocked around Marco. 

"Do you think Connie knows?" Another shot rang through the night and Eren flinched, a tad more violently. Armin rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. 

"Mikasa won't let your parents get hurt." 

"I know." 

"She won't get hurt, either."

"I'm _fine_ , Armin." Eren brushed the hand on his shoulder off. "What about Connie?"

Armin sighed. "I think he knows something is up, but his cousin being in a homosexual relationship with the heir to the Montague family probably won't be the first thing to come to mind." 

"If we tell Marco, he'll want to go." 

"He'll get himself killed." Armin's baby blue eyes met Eren's again. The dim yellow over head light had stained them green.

"So we don't tell him."


	14. Augenblick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U know the part where Mercutio gets killed? Yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I can't do this anymore my country is being run by an orange mummified ballsack help me hEL P M E

Jean awoke to the sound of Connie's hushed voice outside of his door. 

He pushed the covers off of his legs, and winced at the sound of his back cracking when he sat up. When the mattress shifted, the springs inside of it squealed quietly. Connie's voice cut off abruptly. 

Jean slipped from the bed, landing on the carpet with a light thud. His phone said it was nearly 9:45, which wasn't too late, for Jean's sleep schedule. He tip-toed toward the door, but the hallway was vacant when he opened it. Far off in the house, the front door slammed. Jean frowned. His father should had left two hours ago, and during the summer, no one else awoke before 10:00, unless there was an emergency. Jean frowned. What sort of emergency occurred at 9:45 on a peaceful, Sunday morning? 

~•~

Connie always looked angry, and today was no exception, Armin thought as the tiny man stalked toward them. Eren stood a bit straighter at the sight, and Armin lent him a worried glance.

"What do you want, Connie?" Armin hated how high his voice was. Perhaps in a year or so it would drop and be masculine.

Connie's eyes wandered behind the two of them. "Where's Marco? I asked him to be here, not you. Don't tell me he pussied out."

Eren pulled a piece of paper from inside his jacket, and began to fold it, slowly and methodically. When he was finished, a nicely folded paper airplane rested in his hands. He tossed it at Connie. It sailed for a few meters before smacking against the alley wall and changing course. Connie snatched it from the air. The nose crumpled in his fist, and when Connie unfolded the sheet, the words he'd scrawled the night before were obscured by the wrinkled paper. 

He scoffed. "You intercepted his mail."

"We didn't let him into what was obviously a trap," Armin answered evenly, "because we care about our own." There was just enough condescending in the statement for Connie to clench his jaw. Then, his eyes changed. 

The two turned at the sound of footsteps, and their hearts plummeted. Marco was jogging toward the three boys, worry plastered across his face. "Not enough, apparently," Connie murmured. The horror on Armin Arlert's face was awful, even for him. 

The three exploded into cacophony as soon as Marco was within ear range. "What the hell are you doing here?" Eren kept yelling, while Armin kept trying to push Marco back the way he'd come. Marco's eyes and words were full of questions and concern, and he wouldn't leave, no matter how many times Armin pushed him. 

"Marco." Everyone flinched at the sound of a gun loading. Marco's eyes went wide and he whirled. Connie stared down at the silver revolver in his hands. Marco could feel his heart slamming in his throat, trying to force its way from his body. 

Bringing a gun to the meeting, as if it wasn't a charged enough situation. 

"Connie ..." Marco whispered, his breath stuttered and came to a stop when the Capulet boy looked up. His eyes weren't angry, or even spiteful. They were _happy_. 

Perhaps that was when Marco realized; he thought this was the right thing to do. 

Connie had been raised to believe that any Montague was the devil, and they all deserved death. Connie wasn't a bad guy. He was just ... mislead. 

"Hey, let's not make any crazy decisions, alright?" Marco chuckles nervously, taking a tentative step forward. In the blink of an eye, the gun was upright and pointed at him, and then Eren and Armin were yelling again, forcing Marco back behind them. Running wasn't an option; the alley didn't branch off to any others and running toward or away from Connie would put them in range of him. 

Talking it out was the only option, and Connie's eyes were set. 

"I don't think you're a bad guy, Marco." Panic was rising in Marco's body, making his hands tremble. 

"Connie-"

In the blink of an eye, Eren crouched and scooped a rock from the ground.

Marco saw Connie's eyes widen in alarm as Eren brought his arm back. 

_Pop._

Everyone flinched. 

The noise echoed off the alley walls, amplifying it and then bouncing it down.

Connie dropped the gun, and it clattered to the ground. 

There was silence, and then Armin coughed. 

Then he coughed again.

And again, and doubled over, and when he coughed again, blood spilled from his lips and onto the ground. 

"Armin?" Eren fell to his knees, and placed his hand on his friend's back. Marco's muscles seemed to have locked into place, immobilizing him. Armin reached out, and his hand was covered in red. 

"'Mmalright-" Armin hissed, and then he gasped, and wave of blood ran down his bottom lip. 

"Marco," Eren muttered, "Marco. Call an ambulance." 

Armin's breath didn't sound right anymore. It was too ragged, hissing, like an cat. "Eren," he rasped, and Eren leaned down to see his face. 

Tears were streaming down Armin's cheeks, and Eren desperately wiped them off. "Grandpa-" he clutched Eren's arm. 

"He'll be fine."

"Please-"

"You're gonna be fine, Armin-" 

"Sorry ... sorry-" He slumped forward, and Eren caught him. His friend's face was buried in his neck. Eren pressed his hand to Armin's back, and felt his heart beat, almost as if to remind himself that his friend was alive. Eren thought, and he almost laughed. 

Armin's breaths began to shallow. The bullet had entered his lung, Eren realized with sick horror. 

"Armin, hang in there, okay?" _Buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump._

Armin chuckled, and gasped for breath. _Buh-buh-budump_

"Hey, talk to me, you're gonna be fine-"

His body suddenly stiffened, Eren felt his lungs contract. "Armin?" 

He went limp. 

Silence.

" _Armin, Jesus Christ-_ " 

Marco's phone fell from his trembling fingers. He could hear the 911 operator asking if he was still there, but it seemed far off, as if the speaker on his phone was underwater. Eren jerked suddenly and Armin's corpse slid off of him and landed face first on the ground. His blonde hair splayed, tangled and blood, around his head. Red covered the ground, covered Armin's body, covered Eren, who was going into shock-

Connie, who'd been standing motionless, dove for the gun. 

Marco launched himself forward, and felt his hands close around the lukewarm metal of the barrel, a moment after Connie's. He tore it from the other boy's grasp. "Why'd you kill him?" He yelled. Connie was sobbing, he realized. Killing Armin wasn't the right thing to do in his mind, and he couldn't make peace with it. Marco felt his breath shuddering through his chest, his hands shaking. "Why'd you kill him?" Connie was staring at the silver revolver. _Why'd didnt you hit me?_

With a cry, Connie threw himself forward, his hands closing around the gun again. Marco hadn't anticipated this, and the gun was half way to his chest before he realized it. He still had a grip on the barrel and he successfully twisted it to the side before Connie was able to slide his fingers to the trigger. 

Marco pushed him. 

Connie sobbed.

The gun went off. 

~•~

Erwin Smith didn't usually get calls about shootings. With the amount of gang violence in this town, it often went unreported. _It's probably because it was the Capulet kid,_ he thought darkly. A thousand teenagers could die but when a rich kid died, everyone went nuts. 

Erwin hadn't liked Connie very much. That didn't mean he had no remorse for the kid; death was an awful thing, but Jean's family had pressed certain ideals onto him that he'd taken too much to heart. 

Erwin exited his car and locked it, before opening the back door of the police office. A small crowd of reporters had clustered around the front of it already, and Erwin, though outwardly placid, was running damn low on patience. 

He entered the waiting room and froze in his tracks when his eyes met with the couple sitting in the arm chairs. 

Levi had never looked disheveled in all the time Erwin had known him, but apparently today was an exception. His hair was messy, as if he'd run some distance, and his shirt collar was undone. When he spied Erwin, he sat straight up right, and made as if to come toward him, but he as well froze when his eyes took him in.

There was an long, awkward pause, before Hanji stood and said, "Do you know where Marco is?"

Erwin sighed, and reached to touch his hair. "This morning, we received a call-"

"Do you have him, or not?" Levi's face was stone and Erwin sighed, and shook his head. 

"Can I explain the situation to you?" Levi nodded, and Erwin sighed again. 

"This morning, we received a 911 call from Marco, saying that his friend, Armin Arlert had been shot in the chest by Connie Capulet." Hanji took a deep breath in. "We arrived at the scene eight minutes later, and found two bodies, the murder weapon, and a witness, who was in shock. 

"Who were-"

"The bodies were Armin and Connie's. " Levi rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if to relieve a sudden headache. Hanji ran a hand through her hair. "The witness is Eren Jeager. Marco was nowhere to be found." 

"But-"

"His finger prints were all over the weapon." Erwin took a deep breath in, and then let it out. "Levi, Hanji, I'm so sorry, but he's a suspect of murder now."

There was a short silence. 

"He wouldn't," Hanji murmured, staring at the wall. "He would never." 

Levi's jaw was clenched, and his heart felt as if it was beating out of his chest. "What will he be charged with if we find he acted in self defense?" 

"The odds are against him, since he's up against the Capulet family." Levi opened his mouth. "No, I don't care if you're just as powerful as they are, the Capulets have money on their side. That means better lawyers and higher likelihood of buying the judge's support."

"What's the worst case scenario?" Hanji asked quietly. Her usually bright eyes were dull and scared. 

"The worst case scenario ...." Erwin rubbed his mouth with his finger tips. "They could convince the judge that it was first degree murder, and for that, he would probably get life."

Hanji let out a little noise and Erwin saw Levi reach over to grasp her hand. "The best we can hope for is to convince the court that Marco, Armin, and Eren were attacked by Connie and turned the gun against him in self defense, but ..."

"... Marco may have ruined that defense when he ran," Hanji finished quietly. Erwin saw her take a deep, shaking breath in, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she was calm. "Erwin, thank you for your help. Levi, I'm going to go to Armin's grandfather. He'll need some support. I'll ... See you later." With that, she turned on her heel and was gone. 

"She hasn't changed much," Erwin said once she was out the door. 

Levi turned back to Erwin. "I need to ask you a favor," he stated slowly, as if it pained him slightly. 

"Why should I do anything at all for you, Levi?" Erwin asked. He sounded exhausted, even to himself. 

"We used to be friends."

"That's a cute way of saying we dated." 

Levi glared at him, and Erwin felt his lips twitch upward slightly in satisfaction. Getting a reaction from Levi had been one of the funniest parts of their relationship, and to this day, he enjoyed it greatly. 

"Yes, we dated, and _before_ that, we were friends. I need a favor, Erwin, and I don't like asking for favors." 

"And what is it that the high and mighty Levi Ackerman-Montague needs from me?" He actually got an eye roll out of that one, which he thoroughly enjoyed. 

"Information that's kept out of the press about the case." Erwin raised his sizable eyebrows. "I just want to know if Marco's going to be alright, Erwin."

Erwin pondered it. He did not, in fact, owe Levi anything; their breakup had been a bitter, nasty one, leaving nothing but ruins behind it. Still, Marco was sweet kid. If he disconnected himself from the situation, Levi was just a concerned dad with attitude issues and a stupid looking tie.

"Okay," he said and Levi breathed out lightly. "Give me your number."


	15. Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco make plans, and Annie wishes to be someplace else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I am so sorry, I never meant for this story to get to far behind ;(((( the guy who edits for me had finals so we couldn't communicate too much (S/o to him btw theo u the real mvp) anyway heres a new chapter, new ones coming soon i promise!!!

Rain steadily pattered down on the roof of the Capulet house. It was soothing on a good day to hear the drops hit the roof, drilling out the scurrying of servants outside of Jean's door. Today, it was simply a pleasure to hear something besides silence. 

The house was all too quiet. 

At noon, Sasha had dragged herself up the stair, tears streaming down her face, to tell Jean that Connie was dead. When he asked how, Sasha had stuttered out his boyfriend's name, and reality had seemed to glitch and warp. Or, rather, it had seemed to shatter, like a teacup pushed from a table. 

To cope, Jean had locked himself in his room. 

He lay inert for a long time, maybe twenty minutes, before the reality of the situation hit him squarely in the face, and he had rolled over, crying into his pillow. Unknown to him, his mother hesitantly reached to knock on his door during this time, but her hand came back to press against her lips when she heard the sounds from inside. She left in a flurry, not wanting to disturb her son further. 

All Jean had wanted was a hug at that moment, and his mother's knock would have been a blessing. Jean's mother didn't know this about her son. 

The Capulets were not a very close family. 

_Okay,_ Jean thought once his tears had stopped. _So my boyfriend, who I trust and love, potentially murdered a close family member of mine._

_That's ..._

_That's some Hamlet shit right there._

He sniffed in, and rolled off of his bed, and walked to the mirror, where he wiped any remaining wetness from his skin. He remembered his eccentric science teacher in ninth grade, telling the class that tears actually helped with clearing up acne. _My skin is going to be great,_ he thought, but couldn't muster the energy to be sarcastic, even in his head. His nose and eyes were still red, and his knees felt weak and shaky. Like a new born deer. _Pathetic._

There was a knock at the balcony door. 

Jean flinched, then glanced toward the sound, knowing who it was. His relief felt like a drug pumped through him, _It's Marco, Marco's okay, Marco came to see me,_ but then he steeled himself, and padded over silently, his socks making no noise on the carpet of his room. His hand seemed to dislike the touch of the door knob, as it flinched away right before touching it. Jean let out a short burst of breath and opened the door. 

Marco stood on the other side. His hair was messy. Rain freckled the shoulders of his sweatshirt. His face looked pale and sick against the black backdrop of the stormy sky.

"Can I come in?" He asked quietly. Jean nodded, stepped back to let him enter.

"Do you want something?" Jean asked, and Marco seemed to cringe away from him and his words. Jean felt a pang and did his best to ignore it. Still, somehow, after all this, he didn't want to hurt him. 

"I didn't kill Connie," Marco said firmly. 

"Then why did you run?" Jean retorted. He saw Marco flinch again. "I'm sorry," he amended, "that was harsh." 

"I-It's okay." Marco stumbled to the side suddenly, and Jean rushed forward. He placed his hands on Marco's shoulders to steady him. Marco's eyes fluttered slightly when he looked at Jean, and his smile was warm but tired. "Sorry, I've been … running all day..." Jean pulled out a chair and Marco slumped into it gratefully. "S-sorry." 

Jean wanted to kiss him, but clenched his jaw instead. "Do you wanna tell me what happened?" 

Marco's breath caught in his throat. "Uh," he stuttered breathily, "Well, Mikasa called me at 11:30-ish.”

"I came over, and she said Eren and Armin and had been acting funny all morning. When they went out, they said they were going to the library to look something up, but she'd suspected something, since Eren never goes to the library. She has access to his Track My iPhone and he was going in a completely different direction than he'd said."

Jean blinked. "She tracked him across the city? That's a little stalker-y."

Marco giggled quietly. "You've met Eren, can you blame her?" Jean shrugged, as if to say, _Fair enough. _"Anyway, we split up to look for him. She went in the opposite direction." An odd lump had formed in Marco's throat, and he coughed, trying to clear it. "She probably didn't even know what happened until ... Well." Marco's voice got deeper when he was on the verge of tears, like it did now. He cleared his throat again.__

__Jean sat on Marco's lap. This would result in an immediate boner if Marco wasn't trying not to cry. Jean's arms looped around Marco neck, pulling his head to his chest. Marco looped his arms about Jean's waist. He was warm; Marco pulled him closer, nuzzling his chest, and breathing in his smell. Jean smelled like Old Spice and dry cleaning, and it was familiar and comforting. Jean's thin fingers curled through Marco's hair._ _

__"Can you continue now?" he murmured, and Marco nodded._ _

___He'd run up from behind them, then seen Connie. Panic had flooded him. Armin and Eren shoved themselves in front of him, like two human shields, and he'd hated them in that moment; hated their loyalty. Connie had drawn the gun, and Marco had felt helpless. Marco didn't like guns; they seemed like cheating to him. A loud pop; Armin had fallen, it hadn't seemed real, like he'd been stuck into the middle of a movie. He'd scrambled for the gun. Connie pushed him. The gun went off and slowly, Connie had sunk to the ground, disbelief painted across his face, and there was blood, there was blood_ everywhere-_ _

__"That's enough. It's okay, you can stop now." Both Jean and Marco were trembling slightly and were silent; they clung to each other for a long minute, taking comfort in the sound of each other's breathing._ _

__"I just didn't want him to kill anyone else."_ _

__Jean didn't respond._ _

__"What do I do now?" Marco whispered. "Your family will hire the best lawyer in the state for Connie if they find me." Jean gritted his teeth, knowing it was true. "They'll tear me apart."_ _

__"They'll make it look like premeditated murder."_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Then we'll run away." Marco glanced up in surprise. Jean's face was set._ _

__"W-what?" spluttered Marco_ _

__"We'll run away together. You can dye your hair and wear colored contacts to look different. I've got enough money to get an apartment out of town for a while." Marco's eyes glittered in the light. "Let's run away together, Marco."_ _

__"Jean, I-" his voice cracked and he swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. "You'd do that for me?"_ _

__His boyfriend laughed, and Marco let out a hiccupy sob. "Yeah," Jean whispered._ _

__"I _l-love_ y-you," Marco stuttered._ _

__"Oh, shit." Jean sat up slightly. "Don't- oh man."_ _

__Marco mopped his face with the back of his hand. "Huh?" He choked out._ _

__"You're- you're crying. Fu- _crap_." Marco sniffled again and Jean wrung his hands slightly. "What do I do? You always handle this really well when I start crying. Shit." Marco laughed quietly, still crying. "Dude, stop. If you cry, I'm totally gonna cry. Again." His eyes were alright glistening. _ _

__Marco giggled through his tears. "Don't cry, Jean, we're gonna be okay."_ _

__~•~_ _

__Annie Leonhardt was a lesbian._ _

__Of course, she was still very much in closet, as her mother, her only living relative, greatly enjoyed stating her opinions on "those dirty homosexuals" and "can't they just follow the bible". Annie had no problems with keeping her relationships on the low, but when her mother had suggested marriage to her at the dinner table, Annie had stiffened and become quite cold in the conversation. After all, most of the family's wealth lay overseas, and Annie had been fluent in Swedish since second grade. She'd figured out early on a scenario in her head; once she was eighteen, her mother would forcefully arrange a marriage for her, and they would leave to Sweden to relish in her wealth. It was more like a dowry, she had also realized, and wrinkled her nose in disgust._ _

__Annie's mother began to present suitors to her, all which she turned her nose up at and rejected coldly. This process lasted three months, through which Annie's mother become more and more exasperated and angry. Eventually, she simply threw up her hands and snapped, "If you won't choose a suitor, I'll choose one for you!" This lead to a loud and snarling dispute between the two of them, where Annie tried to explain that "people don't marry off their daughters, this isn't 1850" and her mother screamed back that "that's how my mother did it, that's how my mother's mother did it, and that's how you'll do it, you ridiculous girl" and so on and so forth._ _

__Eventually, Annie had stomped up to her room and thrown some things around to express her anger at her situation. After a while, it began to seem useless, and Annie called Mikasa, her heart aching._ _

__She remembered that when their relationship had begun, it had been more of a "you're hot and I'm horny" situation than an actual relationship. Then Annie had started seeing Mikasa places. After they had sex, they would talk, about school and the Montague-Capulet rivalry. They realized they had similar views. And at some point, they'd sort of fallen in love, in a funny sort of way._ _

__Annie was fully capable of taking Mikasa with her to Sweden, but she knew that her girlfriend wouldn't come. In all honesty Annie hated Eren Jeager for his irresponsibility. Honestly, Mikasa was worried sick every day of the week, because that idiot couldn't keep himself alive without the help of two to three people._ _

__That fight had been three days ago._ _

__Annie sat on a wooden stool, while makeup was applied to her face. She wasn't particularly fond of heavy makeup, but she supposed it was necessary for important events, and today was important._ _

__Today, she would meet the person who's children she'd be expected to bear._ _

__The thought of having sex with a man made Annie want to vomit. If whoever her mother had picked was over over thirty, she was going to kill him. She'd decided this stubbornly the night before. She would hire a mysterious Bulgarian assassin to take him out while he was on a business trip. Then, when the police came to tell her, she'd come down the stairs in a flowing pink overcoat, and gasp daintily when the news was delivered._ _

__A stupid fantasy, of course._ _

__"Can I open my eyes yet?" She asked quietly._ _

__"Your eyeliner isn't dry quite yet. Just a few moments. Can you pout your lips for me?" the maid in front of her replied. Annie did so and a few moments later, felt lipstick being applied across her mouth. Dread filled her stomach at the moment, for some reason; the relationship she was about to enter, no matter what sort of marriage contract she sighed, would never be a consenting one._ _

__"You're done." Annie opened her eyes. In mirror, her face was stone, but her mouth trembled slightly. She pressed her lips into a thin line to cease their movement. Silent Annie, that was her. Immovable Annie._ _

___I can survive marriage. I always survive._ _ _

__She straightened her skirts and walked from the room. A small dusting of power sat in her collar; she brushed it off._ _

__There was a knock at the door, and Annie opened it. "Mother," she stated quietly, and dropped her eyes to the ground. In the corner of her vision, she saw her mother's red lips curl into a satisfied smile. She ignored it, and brushed past._ _

__She kept her eyes down as she descended the stairs. _In the next room is the person I'll be bound to forever.__ _

___Unless I hire a Bulgarian assassin to get rid of him._ _ _

__That put a small smile on her face. Annie's mother slipped her arm around Annie's._ _

__"Are you ready?" She asked, and Annie hated her more than ever in that moment._ _

__"Yeah," she breathed hoarsely._ _

__The doors opened. Annie wondered if the servants doing the door opening were aware of what doors they were opening, how much they impacted her._ _

__She looked up, and flinched._ _

__An equally distraught looking Jean Capulet stared back at her._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cOMMENTS ARE ALWAYS REALLY REALLY AWESOME


	16. BITE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Annie meet and discuss their impending marriage. Marco sneaks out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is fucking short lmao

Annie couldn't really think of what to say, so she coughed out the first thing that came to mind;

"Wait, I thought you were gay."

Jean's face warped into something like betrayal, and Annie barely had time to think, _Perhaps homophobia runs in rich families,_ before he snapped, "I thought _you_ were gay." 

The room was deathly silent, and Annie felt her mother's grip biting into arm. Her long, acrylic nails dug crescents into her flesh. 

"Jean," Jean's father murmured, and Mr. Capulet had never looked so terrifying, "what is the meaning of this?" 

In the moment, Annie actually felt bad for her suitor. "A misconception, evidently," she said breezily. Though her feet felt anchored to the ground, she stepped forward, wrenching her arm from her mother's grasp. Five curved nail marks flared red on her forearm as blood rushed back into them. "Mr. Capulet. I believe we've met before," Annie smiled, hoping to God that she wasn't bleeding.

Jean's father was a tall man, with a thin (creepy) mustache and straw colored hair that was combed neatly to the side of his head. His eyes were tiny and cold, like chunks of broken car glass. When Annie reached out to grasp his hand, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before accepting the handshake. His grasp was too tight. When Annie looked up to meet his eyes, they were already boring into her. A tiny shiver went through Annie, one that couldn't be detected visually but that felt like an ice cold finger traveling between her shoulder blades. 

_I don't like this man._

Annie turned away toward Jean, and, unable to think of any other way to greet him, she reached out and shook his hand as well. "Nice to see you again, Jean," she murmured. He simply nodded, and glanced away from her face. His grip, unlike his father's, was weak, and his hand felt sweaty and cold. There were large bags under his eyes. His face was pallid and grey. 

The pair were the picture of a conqueror and his newly earned prize. 

"Welcome to our home," Annie said, and tried her hardest to sound sincere. It came out cold and stale, along with the false bits of feeling she'd added.

"If you would please follow me," Annie's mother said with much more conviction, "Mr. Capulet and I have some legal matters to discuss. Annie," and she gave a pause that was just long enough to be disgusting, "keep Jean _entertained_." She turned with a flourish as Mr. Capulet came up beside her. Annie felt his steely eyes on her as he walked, and she turned. His gaze met hers for a long moment, before he finally had to turn and face Annie's mother. Annie turned away. The door gave a quiet _thunk_ as it closed. 

There was a long silence. 

"Jean, are you alright?" 

Jean blinked and looked up. Annie's unnerving gaze rested on him, and he angled himself away again. 

"Sure," he answered sullenly. "Just a little freaked out."

"Did your dad force you into-" Jean made a noise in the back of his throat, and for once, Annie fell silent. 

"This sucks," whispered Jean after a long while. 

"I'm not having sex with you," intoned Annie, crossing her arms. 

Jean looked startled. " _What?_ " 

"They're going to want an heir." 

"You're thinking that far ahead _already?_ "

"I don't have the privilege not to," Annie said, and her voice was colder than usual. "Anyway, I _won't._ " Her voice edged on a stubborn, sour note, almost like a child that wanted to get her way. 

Jean was silent. 

"You still think you can get out of this, don't you." He turned and glared at her, but Annie wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Have you ever had a job? If you ran away, would you be able to provide, or would Marco do all the money making?"

"Don't-" 

"Not to mention, how would you even get out of this town? Your father owns your car, right? Do you even have any money of your own?" 

" _Shut up_ ," Jean growled, and his furious, pale face had gained a bit of color in the cheeks. "We'll be to be fine." 

Annie was silent for a little, and then murmured, "I hope you get away." Jean blinked, surprised at her sudden change in attitude. "We won't marry here. The largest portions of my family's money remains overseas. They'd probably ship us off to there."

Annie was certain he hadn't known that, for the angry flush was quickly draining away. A small tick had started in his left hand. 

"To where?" Jean had gone silent and pale again. 

Annie gulped. She had no great love of Jean Capulet, but it was almost difficult for her to force the word out. The life he'd built rested on her, and Annie didn't want to be the one to tear it apart. 

"Sweden," she whispered. 

_Sweden._ Jean knew practically nothing about Sweden, but that it was cold and far, far away. _Sweden. A new language, a new culture. And I will never be able to see Marco, ever again._

Annie was silent, and she almost looked remorseful to Jean. "I'll still run," he told her softly, but there was no emphasis behind it. 

"I'm sorry," Annie breathed. 

"What?"

"Nothing important." 

~•~

Marco waited for the large bus' doors to close, and then he waited as luggage was slowly and carefully piled into the large cargo area in the belly of the bus. Then, once it looked about half full, he put the magazine he'd been carrying in front of his face into his bag and strolled casually toward the bus. Behind his sunglasses, Marco's eyes were glued to the man who'd been loading luggage. He had a short cropping of white hair that was thinning around the crown of his head. _Sorry,_ Marco thought quickly, and rolled in among the bags. 

The space was only about five feet high, but seemed to stretch on forever, as the light from outside only illuminated a bit of the interior. Marco scrambled back to the darkest corner he could find, and curled into a ball. Only then did he realize how hard his heart was beating; his pulse raced in his throat and hands, and he felt hot all of a sudden. There would be no stripping off layers, though, not yet, for the man outside had begun to load more bags into the bus. Marco pulled his jacket over his head, and turned his back toward the light; _his best bag-like look yet!_ he though, and found it funny for some reason. 

A bag hit in in the back it was chucked across the floor. Marco stifled a yelp, clenching the muscles in his throat so that he wouldn't let any noise loose. His head felt clear, yet his entire being trembled as another bag was thrown into the trunk. 

If he was caught, he'd be processed. They'd see his photo, they'd match it to the ones that had inevitably been put up in Saint Maria. Marco wondered quickly how much the reward was for finding him. He wondered if he could be captured dead or alive. Then he wondered if that was still a thing. 

He wondered if Jean missed him.

Another bag hit him in the back.

~•~

Hours later, Marco was jolted awake by the low murmur of feet above him. He sat up and stifled a groan; his shoulders had stiffened and his neck had a god-awful kink in it. Moving was nearly unbearable, but he made himself twist and stretch as much as he could. He stopped as a loud clang echoed through the small, cramped space. The doors opened with a low whine, and Marco's heart beat seemed to echo off the walls, it was so loud. Heat rushed to his face. If he were to speak now, his voice would have been squealing and sputtery. In Marco's head, an imaginary Eren and Armin were teasing him for it. 

The doors remained open for a moment, and dim, orange light poured in before a low voice grumbled, "Not yet? Yeah, alright." _Oh, no._ Marco thought and an image of the balding man crawling into the compartment with a flashlight filled his mind. But the door simply shut again. Marco waited a beat before breathing out. 

He crawled forward as slowly as he could. Each time he heard the sound of his clothing swept against itself, he cringed and waited for the doors to fly open, but it never happened. Pressing his ear to the doors, it seemed that there was no sound outside besides the gentle murmur of far away traffic and the sound of feet upstairs. He pressed his feet to the door and felt the latch outside give slightly; it probably wasn't locked. Marco sucked in a lungful of air and gently pushed outward. The door swung open easily and Marco, squinting in the light, slipped out. Adrenaline hit Marco's bloodstream like a drug as he realized anyone could have seen him slip out. He slipped his backpack over his shoulder and trotted away from the bus, ignoring how his leg muscles pulled and hurt. He flinched as the now-familiar voice of the balding man echoed after him, but the words weren't directed toward him and he was able to slip into the darkening streets without pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are always appreciated! have a nice day and hopefully I'll have another chapter up by next week.


	17. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir and Jean get in contact, and Marco calls Jean to tell him he's ok.

Jean turned his ringer on and pumped the volume all the way up. He placed the phone on his pillow and rolled off of his bed, determined not to think of it again. 

A tiny _bing!_ came muffled through his rumpled pillow case. Jean twirled and sprung, his hand outstretched. It clasped around his cell phone and he was on his stomach, the screen an inch to his face in a fraction of a second. His heart rate slowed as he read the text across his lockscreen; a **Hello** from a number he didn't recognize. He considered answering but couldn't muster up the energy, and let the cell slide from his fingers to the pillow, where it landed with a soft thump. Jean stared down at it for a moment, before rolling off of his bed again, this time with less enthusiasm. His hand twitched back to his cellphone; there was nothing to do and mindlessly scrolling through some social network feed seemed like entertainment enough to him. Jean clenched the twitching hand into a fist and pulled it away. 

His phone buzzed. Jean twisted violently and snatched it from the bed.

Another text, from the same unknown number. He nearly nearly turned his phone off again, before his eyes were drawn to a single word on the screen. He blinked, then slowly read the text across the lockscreen. 

**Marco sent me.**

Jean's mouth fell open, but he shook his head, and clenched it shut. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened his phone and typed out his response: 

**Who is this?**

The message sat for half a second, then underneath, _read at 8:07 PM_ appeared. A typing bubble sprung from the left side of Jean's screen. Then:

**Givin u my name could put me undr invwstigatioon if dis convursasikn somhow being record.** Jean blinked. The person's typing was barely coherent. A few more texts popped up, correcting the misspelled words in the last text. 

Jean chewed his lip in indecision, then typed back: **Is there anywhere I would know you from** he typed, then went back and added a question mark. The message sent. 

**I go 2 ur skool lmaoo** , the next message read. **I usualy am w/ th stonerss behind the skool tho so idk if u kno me**

_Oh._ Jean had vague recollection of Marco waving to a tall girl with brown hair and dark eyes and her waving back them, a messily wrapped blunt sticking from between her pointer and middle fingers. 

Jean typed, **ok I know who you are,** then shook his head and deleted it. _That could be incriminating,_ Jean scolded himself, then typed, **can we meet?**

_Read at 8:10._ Jean waited for typing bubble to appear, but after waiting for about three minutes, he was beginning to wonder if the stoner chick on the other end was actually planning on writing him back.

**This is not the kind of text that you leave on read, you prick** Jean shook his head and edited out the last two words. It wasn't in his best interests to piss her off right now. 

_Read at 8:13._ No typing bubble. “Oh my _God,_ ” Jean whined, and felt the urge to throw the cell across the room. 

~•~

Ymir shoved her cellphone between her breasts and attempted to climb out of the window. 

The door to the room burst open, and Historia, red faced from running up the stairs, stumbled into the room. “Ymir, stop it.” Her small hands closed around the front of her girlfriends shirt, and Ymir relented, moving away from the window frame. Historia pressed down on her shoulders firmly, and Ymir sat down hard on the desk she’d pushed from the corner to stand on, (helping her reach the window more easily.) Historia slipped upward and curled her legs around Ymir’s waist. 

“Are you going to text Jean back?” She whispered. 

Ymir was surprised at her tone. Moments before, Historia had been chasing her through the house, begging her to leave the phone alone. “You’re letting me?” She replied, quietly laughing. 

“I’m sorry I tried to tell you what to do. That wasn't my place,” Historia murmured. When she sat on Ymir’s lap, their faces were at the same level, and Ymir placed a gentle kiss on her nose. “All is forgiven.” Historia giggled. “But I have to text Jean.” As if answering a que, the cellphone in her bra vibrated, send chills through Ymir’s breasts. 

Historia pressed her lips into a thin line of displeasure, but then shook her head. “Yeah, alright. But I don't want you to text him your address. Who knows you that Jean knows too?”

“Mikasa,” Ymir answered automatically. 

~•~

Marco sat down as hard he could next to the sleeping guy on the bench.

Nothing. He continued snoring loudly, his head lolling to one side. A singular strand of saliva hung from his thin, chapped lips. 

Marco scrunched his hand up in his sleeve and used the now-empty bit of fabric at the end to caress the man’s hand. Still nothing. 

Marco slipped his hand under the man’s arm and plucked a large black smartphone from his pocket. His conscience screamed at him to put it back now and go, but he shushed it and got up, stealing silently away from the sleeping man. There was a large tree about ten meters from the bench; Marco ran as silently as he could toward the tree and finally slipped behind it. 

The phone was a Samsung, and Marco was generally an Apple person, but there was an obvious z pattern in grease and dirt on the front of the phone where the man had swiped in his passcode over and over; after a few attempts at different directions, the phone unlocked with a small _click_. Even this made Marco uneasy, and he leaned out to glance at the man on the bench, who, predictably, was still fast asleep.

Marco opened the calling application and dialed a number. It wasn't the number he knew he _should_ be dialing; there was no doubt in his mind that Levi and Hanji were worried sick. But there was the slightest likelihood that they would call the cops at a call from him, and that wasn't something he particularly needed right now. Sneaking onto one bus a day was nerve-wracking enough; Marco _really _didn't want to move locations again.__

__The phone rang and rang, before eventually declining his call. “Damn it, Jean,” he murmured, as his boyfriend’s familiar voicemail came on._ _

___“Hey, uh, this is Jean Kirstien, please call me back later. Bye.”_ Marco hung up before the tone, and frowned at the peculiar ache that had settled in his chest. He called the number again. _ _

___What if this is the last time I get to speak to him?_ Marco’s gut twisted. That sure was a thought. The phone began to ring. “Come on, Jean, pick up,” Marco whispered into the empty receiver. _ _

__There was a crackle as the line connected._ _

___“Can you_ please _find a better time to call me? I’m busy,”_ snarled Jean on the other end. _ _

__Marco gasped gently, and managed to stutter, “S-sorry, is it a b-bad time?” His lips were trembling a little, and he rubbed them with his hands, as if to massage the tremors away._ _

__There was a short silence, and in the background heard the rush of traffic, before: “Marco, is that you?”_ _

__Marco found that his eyes had welled up in relief, and he stared up at the sky to keep them from spilling down his face. It felt as if a tight iron clamp had been harnessed around his chest up until now, and the pressure was just starting to give. “Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was cracking and breaking._ _

__On the other end of the line, he heard Jean take in a shaky breath. _“Are you alright?”__ _

__“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” It was so good to hear Jean’s voice. “S-sorry, are you in the middle of something, or-”_ _

___“No! No, it’s okay, I can talk now. Where are you? Wait, don't answer that.”_ Marco laughed gently, though it came out as a hiccupy gurgle in his throat. _“Jesus, I’m glad you’re okay.”_ Jean’s voice sounded hoarse and tired. _ _

__“A-are you? Okay, I mean?”_ _

___”I, uh … yeah. Rough day, that’s all. How-”_ something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle came through the speaker. _“How are you calling me?”__ _

__“I stole some guy’s phone.”_ _

__A pause._ _

___“You did_ what?” _ _

__“I stole a guy’s phone. Anyway, you should block this number when I finish calling you, I don't want anyone tracking me.” Marco peeked around the tree. No movement from the sleeping man._ _

___“Got it. How’d you- I mean, how are you-”_ Jean sounded slightly overwhelmed. _“Where are you gonna sleep? Do you have food?”__ _

__“I love you,” Marco whispered into the phone._ _

___”That’s not an answer, Marco!”_ _ _

__“I’m gonna try my best to stay safe, Jean, but I’m out in the middle of nowhere with a couple hundred dollars for food and nowhere to stay.” He heard Jean sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”_ _

___“No, I think you’re the first person to be completely honest with me today. It’s alright.”_ _ _

__Marco slid down to sit, curled beneath the tree, his back pressed to its bark. How nice it would be to see Jean now, to run his fingers through the soft, messy hair at the crown of his head. “I miss you,” he mumbled._ _

___“I miss you, too. Listen, as soon as I can leave, I’m gonna come get you, and then we can get out of here.”_ _ _

__“To where?”_ _

___“I dunno. Canada?”_ Marco laughed, but quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. The man on the bench stirred in his sleep. “Shit,” Marco murmured. _ _

___”Everything okay?”_ Jean sounded anxious. _ _

__“I have to go soon.” Dread filled Marco’s stomach like poison. “Did Ymir contact you yet?”_ _

___“Yeah. She- uh, yeah.”_ Jean’s voice was teary again, and Marco cursed himself for making this boy sad in the slightest. _“D’you really have to go right now?”__ _

__“Yeah.” The man was grumbling quietly. “I’ll call you again as soon as I can. I-I-” He could feel his face growing noticeable warm and his throat beginning to constrict, in the way it tended to do when one was on the verge of tears. _I miss you so much I don't want to lose you please don't hang up on me I’m so scared it’s so dark outside and I’ve never been scared of the dark in my life but I’m scared now Jean._ “I love you.”_ _

___“I love you, too,”_ Jean said quickly. Marco nodded and ran a hand through his hair. It was not a good time to cry. _“Can I say something weird?”__ _

__“Sure.”_ _

___“I, uh. I wanna be with you. I want us to stay together. You know?”_ _ _

__Marco didn't quite know how to respond to that, or if he could, so he told him that he knew._ _

___“Be careful, Marco,”_ Jean whispered, and then line went dead. _ _

__Marco steadied his trembling lips into a thin, tight line, and pulled the phone away from his head. He wiped the screen and the back of the cell with his sleeve until there was no trace of his fingerprints. Then he mopped his cheeks with the back of his jacket sleeve. He locked the phone, and after a moment of considering whether or not he should, (it was a Samsung, Eren said they could take quite the beating) he placed the phone on the ground and kicked it toward the bench._ _

__The sleeping man, who looked considerably awake now, grunted and reach down._ _

__When the man looked back, wondering what had delivered his phone to him in such a manner, there was nothing but darkness in the park._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would it be weird if i sketched some of the things in this story and posted them here? tell me if that would be of interest. As always, ya'lls comments make me day, and thank you for your support.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren wakes up in the hospital, and Jean talks with Mikasa. Also I introduce Petra, because I love her.

Eren Jaeger’s eyes flew open. 

He no longer felt numb or stiff; in fact, his hands were trembling, he assumed with pent up energy. He sat up, and a heavy blanket slid down his chest. He was dressed in light blue cotton pajamas, and the material was stiff and dry, making the hairs on his arms stand up when his skin shifted against it. 

Looking around, Eren quickly came to the unsettling realization that this was certainly not his room. The ground was grey flecked tile, and the walls were clean and white. It didn't even smell like his room; this air smelled as if it had been bleached clean. 

_It’s a hospital room_. 

To Eren’s left, there was a barely-audible sigh, and he glanced over. There was a small couch in the corner of the room, and on it lay a disheveled-looking Mikasa. Her head lay in the crook of her elbow, pushing her silky black hair up into disarray. “Hey,” Eren tried to say, but his voice was raspy from disuse. He cleared it, with some difficulty, as it was quite dry. “Hey, Mikasa.” 

Mikasa snorted quietly, and raised her head. For a moment, she looked completely unlike herself; her cheeks were flushed from sleeping, her eyes were wide and soft, and her hair was tangled and hung in messy strands around her face. “What?” she mumbled, her voice low and raspy. 

“You look tired,” Eren told her.

Relief washed over Mikasa’s face, just momentarily, but Eren still saw it, and it made his chest ache. Then, the look disappeared and she replied sourly, “You look greasy.”

Eren cracked a tiny smile, but it disappeared quickly. “What happened to me?” He asked quietly. Mikasa’s jaw muscles tightened for a fraction of a second. 

“You went into shock after Armin died.” She stated it softly and slowly, as though it was slightly difficult to force the words from her mouth. “You wouldn't talk or move or eat, and eventually you just passed out, so we moved you to the hospital.” Eren nodded. _Am I still in shock?_ he wondered. The news and mention of his best friend’s death wasn't affecting him too badly. His hands were still trembling, he realized, and he folded them together. 

“The police want to question me, probably,” Eren said quietly. 

“Well, I dunno, you were only the witness of two murders.” 

“You’re saltier than usual.”

“Stress reliever.” This did not make Eren any less worried for his sister. Mikasa didn't use or need stress relievers, not even during exams. She was calm and collected, except around particularly pretty girls. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly. Mikasa’s jaw clenched, but before she could open her mouth the door to the hospital room opened. Both siblings flinched.

“Eren, you’re awake,” said the nurse in the doorway. She smiled gently. Her hair was a brilliant shade of ginger, and her eyes glimmered warmly as she sat a tray down on the bed side table. “Mikasa, are you doing alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The nurse nodded and handed Eren a glass of water. His hands’ trembling had settled somewhat, and he was able to down the water without spilling it all over himself. 

“Hey, excuse me?” Mikasa said. The nurse turned. “Could you hold off telling them Eren’s awake for a few minutes? He could use some time to adjust.” The redhead’s eyes flickered to Eren, who nodded. Mikasa knew him well; a minute to regain his footing was just what he needed. 

Petra Ral’s posture slackened as she left the room, and she pumped the air with her fist. It was obvious to her that Eren wouldn't need much more medical attention; when Eren left, so would- 

“The mother fucking police,” she whispered, ended her own thought, and hopped up and down for half a second. Her back throbbed angrily, and she winced, but continued to practically skip down the hall toward the waiting room. 

She was met with snores, and thanked God that she hadn't been seen skipping around the three before her. Hanji Zoe’s head was lolling backward at an awkward angle, her mouth hanging open slightly. Levi had collapsed against his wife, his cheek squished upward again her shoulder. His long, spindly fingers were intertwined with each other in his lap. When his face wasn't perfectly composed, Levi almost looked peaceful. Beside them, Erwin Smith lay with a book placed over his eyes. His feet were kicked up on the small, magazine covered table in front of them. 

Petra felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The old squad was together again, if in strange circumstances. 

She then felt strange, staring at the sleeping group of adults. She checked her watch. It had been about three minutes since she'd departed from Eren Jaeger’s room. _Sorry, Mikasa_ , Petra thought, and shook Erwin’s shoulder. 

“Hmm.” Erwin sat up, and the book fell of off of his face and into his lap. He stared at it in vague disappointment, before glancing up. His face flickered from confusion to recognition to a sort of weary-happiness that Petra couldn't quite read. “Petra. How are you?” 

“A bit miffed, to be honest.” Petra replied sharply. “Do you know how ridiculously hard it is to work while your police officers are using the facility? Drugs have gone missing. This morning, one of them broke the coffee machine. We didn't even tell them they could use our staff room. Do you want to know what happens when sleep deprived surgeons don't get their caffeine?” Erwin opened his mouth. “And you three.” She gestured to the still sleeping forms of Levi and Hanji. “How long have you been camping out in the blasted waiting room?”

“Since I told Levi that Eren had been transferred here. Yesterday.” Petra rubbed her temples, then checked her watch. Eren had had nearly five minutes. “Hanji joined Levi here around one in the morning.” 

Speaking of Hanji, she was beginning to stir at the loud talk. Levi, who Petra remember to be quite the light sleeper, was somehow still out. “Goodmorning, Zoey.” The nickname flowed out automatically with the rest of the sentence. 

“Hey.” Hanji looked very tired, but she was able to smile. “Hey, Petra. How’s your back?” 

As if on cue, Petra’s back gave an unpleasant pulse. 

“Yeah, a lot better.” She made herself smile. Her back injury was not not something she enjoyed speaking on, though she didn't want either of them to know that. “Anyhow, Eren Jaeger is awake.” 

It was as if she’d spoken a password to a machine, for at those words, Levi’s eyes shot open and he sat up with a jolt. “Jesus,” Petra spat automatically. Levi stared at her blankly. “Have a nice rest, Levi?” She asked. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Levi asked sourly.

“I _work_ here,” Petra stated placidly. Levi almost looked as if he didn't believe her. “As I was saying, Eren’s vitals seem to be normal, and he seems to be in a pretty good place, mentally, but I’m going to be in the room during the interview, just in case something goes wrong. Erwin, could you please go interview Eren, and then tell your men to get the hell out of my hospital? Thanks. I’ll lead the way.” She spun on her heel and trotted down the hall. 

“What was that about?” Erwin asked as the two of them began down the hall. 

“I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to,” Petra replied, her chin held high. Her eyes were fixed forward, her jaw tight. “This way,” she directed as the hall branched. 

“You’re still angry with us, aren't you.” Petra sighed. “It’s been years, Petra.”

“Could you blame me?” Petra’s hand pressed to her back as another long pulse hit her. “ _Jesus,_ ” she whispered. The pain passed and her hand dropped back to her side. “I’m not still angry. It was just a bad introduction, on a very bad day. I got defensive.” 

“You have every right,” Erwin murmured. 

“What’d you say?”

“I said it’s fine. Is this it?” Petra had stopped in front a door. She nodded. 

“Go easy on him, alright?” Erwin quirked an over groomed eyebrow. “I’m serious. He seems pretty calm right now, but from what I’ve heard, he was holding the other kid while he died. Anything could set him off.” Petra checked her watch. Seven minutes had passed. It would have to be enough. 

“I’ve worked with trauma victims before, I’m a police officer.”

“No one trusts the police these days, Erwin.” Petra pushed the door open.

The moment that Erwin entered the room, Eren’s EKG started beeping like crazy. Mikasa sat up, her head flicking between her brother and the two arrivals. “Is that normal? What’s happening?”

Petra yanked a radio from her belt. “Front desk, this is Petra Ral,” she said quickly into it. Both she and Erwin saw Mikasa’s eyes widen slightly at the name. “I’m already in Room 204, so there's no need to send anyone.” She was across the room in four long strides. “Eren, are you alright?” She asked. Eren’s bright green eyes were fixed on Erwin’s uniform. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m alright. The police make me a little nervous, is all. I’m fine.” Eren’s voice was soft, and his face placid, but his sudden respectful tone and tense muscles made it perfectly clear that he was on edge. 

Petra leaned forward until she was about half a foot from Eren’s ear. “I know that guy pretty well. You’re a minor, so he’s gonna take it easy on you as long as you’re honest with him, alright?” Eren nodded. Petra stood. “Great. Mikasa, we can't legally have you in the room right now.” Petra wasn't actually sure about this, but Erwin nodded at her when she shot him a questioning look. Mikasa looked as if she was going to protest, but seemed to think better of it and left. 

Anxiety ate at Mikasa as she walked down the hall. Eren was only polite when he was terrified, and when Eren was terrified he made bad decisions. No, that wasn't quite true; Eren made bad decisions most of the time. Eren made _terrible_ decisions when he was terrified. This explained why he’d thrown a rock at an armed Connie. Mikasa had made it to the waiting room; she flopped down in a chair, and cradled her head in her hand, pulling out her cellphone. Her mother had texted, and asked about Eren’s status; Mikasa smiled, and told her that he was awake. It felt good to be able to say that. From across the room, she looked up to see that Hanji was asleep again, though Levi remained up and alert. He caught her eye and they exchanged a look.

“Mikasa?” She glanced upward at the familiar voice. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed slightly. 

“Jean. What are you doing here?” 

Jean, like everyone else Mikasa had associated with today, looked absolutely exhausted. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled. A half empty bottle of water hung from his fingers.“Just … waiting to talk to Eren, like everyone else, I guess.” Jean’s eyes wandered to his left, where Levi was staring at him. “D-does he know who I am?” Jean asked, nodding toward the tiny gang leader. 

“Probably not. What do you want with Eren?” 

“That’s not really any of your business.” 

Mikasa gave a low chuckle. It wasn't a happy chuckle; Jean felt as if a cold finger had been dragged slowly down his spine, counting the vertebrae that it found. “Let me rephrase: Levi doesn't know you’re the heir to the Capulet house, but he will, _right now,_ if you don't tell me what you want with my brother.” 

Jean’s eyes went wide. “Okay! Jesus! I-” he glanced around, before lowering his voice. “I-I just wanted to ask him some stuff about … Marco.” 

“About what happened in the alleyway?”

“No, n- I’m not a fucking asshole, Mikasa!” _Debatable,_ Mikasa thought. “Just … stuff. About Marco.”

Mikasa didn't pry. Jean sat down (more like fell; his knees just seemed to _give_ ) in the seat beside her. Looking at him, she remembered all the times Jean had flirted with her months before. That Jean would have been all over her now; lending false comfort about Eren, asking her if she wanted to go get some food. This Jean simply sat in his seat, his fingers squirming in his lap like rowdy children. “Why aren't you in there?” 

Mikasa blinked. “They allow family whenever, don't they?” 

“Erwin Smith is talking to him right now,” she answered absentmindedly. 

“You know Erwin?”

“You’re on a first name basis with him?

Jean shrugged. “We’re friends.” Mikasa quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. “When do you think they’ll be out?”

“Believe it or not, this is the first in-hospital-murder-investigation-interrogation I’ve sat through.” 

“You are _way_ saltier than usual.” 

“Fuck _off_ , Jean.” Mikasa’s tiny rosebud lips were pressed together in a firm line. She looked about one comment away from losing her shit. But then, she took a deep breath in, and let it out, closing her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, she just looked tired. “I’m just worried about Eren. And I didn't sleep last night.”

“Do you need caffeine or something?” Jean pulled a small bottle from his pocket, and Mikasa almost laughed when she realized it was a bottle of Five Hour Energy. “I haven't slept either. I kinda of feel like I’m gonna die, but I can think properly, which is good.” 

Mikasa held out her hand, but Jean leaned down and picked up his bottle of water from the ground. “It’s better diluted, trust me.” Mikasa took the water and added the Five Hour Energy to it, before throwing her head back and letting the content of the entire bottle flow into her mouth. “It’ll kick in in a few,” Jean said.

Mikasa swallowed and wiped her lips. “Thanks.” 

Jean stared at her for a few moments. “Mikasa?”

“Mmm?” 

“Do you know who that nurse who led Erwin away was? I saw them leaving, and … I dunno, everyone kinda had this weird look on their faces. It was fuckin’ strange.” 

Mikasa blinked. “Well, yeah. That was Petra Ral.” There was no change in Jean’s expression. “You don't know about the Montagues and Petra Ral.”

“Nope.”

Mikasa glanced over at Levi Ackerman, who was busy typing something out on his phone. She then turned back to Jean. “Petra Ral is considered a traitor. So is Erwin for that matter; both of them were born Montagues, but they both moved uptown and cut off contact with Levi at some point.” Again, she glanced at Levi. Her voice lowered. “I have no idea if this is actually true, but everyone says that when Levi, Erwin, Petra and Hanji were in college, they went on some excursion in the middle of the night. Petra’s crazy dad thought she was having sex with Levi, and beat her up so badly that he actually broke her back. Since the excursion had been Levi and Hanji’s idea, she didn't want to associate with them anymore and cut ties.” 

Jean found that his mouth was hanging slightly open, and closed it quickly. “That’s- _Jesus._ It would explain the weird vibe everyone had around her.” 

“Mmm. I don't really wanna believe it.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I love Levi and Hanji.” Jean was looking at her strangely. Mikasa shrugged. “Everyone does.” 

_How incredibly different from the Capulets,_ Jean thought. He wasn't sure anyone in the world loved his father. 

“Mikasa, can I ask you another question?” 

“Will it stop you if I say no?”

“What’s Ymir’s address?”


	19. Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Eren have an interaction that isn't super passive aggressive. Historia contacts Marco.

Marco had spent his childhood in difficult situations. If Eren and Armin had seemed difficult to deal with as teenagers, they were infinitely more difficult as pre-adolescents. Armin had thought that explosions were fascinating. Eren had thought that everyone else in the world had as low a pain tolerance as he did. To make matters worse, both boys were masters of deception, and until they’d accidentally set fire to Eren’s garage at age 9, their parents had been entirely unsuspecting. Marco and Mikasa had had their hands full for the bulk of their lives. 

_I can handle a tough situation or two,_ Marco thought, but as he stared down the empty sidewalk in front of him, his stomach sank. 

This town was a state away from Saint Maria; hundred of miles away from anywhere Marco knew. If this was Saint Maria, he would know which bathrooms he could hide in for the night, which restaurants remained open until the late hours of the night. Marco knew Saint Maria like the back of his hand, for he’d never really left before. 

This strange town with its unfamiliar layout was absolutely terrifying to Marco. 

It had begun to rain even harder, and the only shelter that he had was the overhanging metal covering the front of the shop he stood beside. Marco shivered; the rain had cut through his down jacket and he felt the hoodie he was underneath growing damp against his arms and chest. His shoulders ached from the weight of his backpack. Sure, Marco had been through some shit, but he had never been homeless. 

“This sucks.” 

~•~

_Jean’s father took a hard step forward, and Jean flinched away from him. “What do you_ mean, _” and his voice was silky, and deadly quiet, “you won’t marry Ms. Leonhardt?”_

_In the dream, Jean couldn’t seem speak._

_“This-This marriage could save our company. After the controversy with Connie-” Jean’s father rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We need a partnership right now. You’re going to provide it.”_

But I don't want to, _Dream Jean thought desperately._

_“You’re going to provide it,” Jean’s father leaned forward. His wide blue eyes flickered; for a moment they looked glazed and yellow, like the eyes of an owl._

_“You’ll provide it, or I’ll disown you and cut off your access to this family’s money.”_

Jean gasped and sat up.

A bead of sweat rolled from his forehead, landing on his eyelashes. Jean sniffled in, wiping his eyes. His arm was sore and stiff; he looked up, expecting his large, blue-walled room, but this room was much larger, and the walls were a pleasant shade of light yellow. 

The waiting room. He’d fallen asleep. The seat beside him was empty; Mikasa was gone. He pressed his hand to the seat, and found it was cold. She’d been gone for some time. His cellphone said it was nearly 10:00. _Didn't I …_ Jean was almost certain that he’d been talking with Mikasa past that time. He checked it again.

**10:00 AM.** _Oh._ Jean made himself sit up. No matter how sore he was, sleeping had started to feel like a rare privilege, and he’d enjoyed it thoroughly, despite his his nightmare. 

_Not a nightmare, not really. A memory._ That conversation had occurred the day Annie and he had formally met, but Jean still didn't want to process it fully. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to. He didn’t plan on marrying Annie.

Still, he wasn't supposed to leave the house; Father’s order. He was going to catch hell when he got back. A ball of dread dropped deep into Jean’s gut, but he ignored it as he got up.

Jean’s head pulsed, gently but persistently, and he pushed himself up off of the seat, and stumbled over to a low, silver water fountain in the corner of the room. He drank, and his headache eased slightly.

Now that the crowd of people that had gathered around Eren Jeager’s bed had somewhat dispersed, it was a prime opportunity for Jean to slip in. (Though, after second thought, Jean wasn't even sure how to. Did he have to schedule it? Was there a certain time he was allowed in?) 

_Damn it, Jean._ He shook his head. _This situation became something that you can't go about legally a long time ago._

204 was the number that that nurse, Petra Ral, had stated when she’d come to collect Mikasa the night before. Jean glanced behind him, (which probably looked quite suspicious in hindsight) before taking off down the hall. 

He was surprised to find that he was on the right floor. A map was taped to the back of the front desk, and after taking an extremely zoomed in photo of it from around the corner, he could tell from the blurred map that room 204 was just a few halls down. _Gotcha._

Jean stood and walked quickly down the hall right to him. 

A nurse bustled past him; he lowered his face and walked by. 

He turned left. There, four doors down, was Eren’s room. 

Jean hesitated for a moment. Eren didn't even like him; it wasn't really a good idea to barge into his hospital room. Besides, what if someone else was there? 

Jean placed his hand on the handle of the door, and twisted gently. _It’s open._ He twisted further. The door gave a quiet whine as it opened. _Fuck, fuck._ He peered around the corner, eyes roaming. 

The only inhabitant was Eren, who’s green eyes had locked onto Jean’s face the moment he looked in. 

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” He asked, and Jean noticed a gently drawl in his voice that seemed to take the vowls in his words and drag them out just a bit longer than necissary. 

Jean gulped. _Don't be an asshole, you need him on your side._ “I wanted to ask you something.” 

Eren snorted, though his face remained placid. “About your boyfriend, or your boyfriend’s dead friend?” Jean cringed slightly at his use of words; though he’d talked to Armin maybe twice, it felt strange to put his death in such casual words. 

“About Marco.” Down the hall, a nurse rounded the corner. Still unsure of whether he was allowed in this room, Jean quickly slipped in and shut the door behind himself. Eren’s eyes tracked him warily across the room, and he raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down beside the bed. 

“What’s the question?” 

“Where would he have gone?” Eren frowned in confusion. “He ran after Connie got shot, I don't know where he might be hiding. Do you-”

“How’re you holding up about that?”

It was Jean’s turn to cock his head in confusion. “About Marco leaving or Connie dying?”

Eren shrugged. “Both.”

“Since when do you care about my mental health?” 

“Since I got put on this weird-ass medication for the anxiety I seem to have developed.” He nodded toward the IV by his bed stand. _Explains the slurring,_ Jean thought. “See, they were gonna use a different one, that wouldn't make me as loopy as this one is, but the nurse chick with the red hair started yelling at ‘em, so they started using a different one.” He heaved a little laugh. “The other one is supposed to chill me out, but this one just slows down my heart. ‘Least that’s what the other nurse said.” 

“I wasn't actually very close with Connie, so I’m holding up alright. Anyway, that’s besides the point.” His voice was rising, and so was Eren’s left eyebrow. Jean cleared his throat. “Sorry. I just need to know where Marco is.” 

“Well, you came to the wrong person.” Jean sighed. “I haven't heard from him since … well, you know.” Eren’s hands had clenched in his lap, and Jean could see his fingers trembling slightly. 

“I should go.”

“Yeah.” Jean stood up. “Oh, wait.”

“Hmm?”

Eren blinked slowly. “I’m also sorry about the marriage.” Jean frowned in confusion. “With Annie.”

Jean flinched, and an ugly expression twisted his facial features. “How the hell do you know about that?”

“I’m Mikasa’s brother, and Mikasa’s Annie’s girlfriend, and Annie tells Mikasa everything, and I’m Mikasa’s only form of emotional support besides Annie.” Jean blinked. It had never been presented to him that Mikasa was dating Annie. It explained why she’d been so cold to him the night before. 

“Oh,” he muttered. There was a short silence. “Eren, if you were in my position, what would you do?”

Eren seemed to think for a moment. “I’d probably fake my death and get out of the city. Buy myself a new identity. You can probably do that, right?” 

“You can do basically anything with enough money,” Jean said absently mindedly. He wondered breifly what time it was, and his hand closed around his cellphone in his pocket, before loosening and letting it go. “My father’s probably going cut off my access to the internet, though, and I think he’s monitoring all of my credit card purchases.”

Eren stared at him for a moment. “Jesus. He’s worse than Mikasa with me.” Jean laughed quietly. “Well, if you ever need anything, I would probably ask Ymir. She’s got access to all sorts of stuff.”

“I thought she just deals weed.” Eren shook his head slowly, a small smile upon his face.

“Man, Ymir’s got a girlfriend named Historia, and she’s a mad-skilled tech genius. If she’d communicating with Marco, it’s because of Historia. Ymir’s got hella contacts all over the place. She and Historia are the go-to if anyone needs any kinda ‘help’, if you know what I mean.”

Jean blinked. “Thanks, man.” 

Eren shrugged. “Me and Marco are tight, and I know he loves you, so I’ll do what I can to help you out.” 

_He loves you._

Jean’s throat grew tight, and Eren’s eyes widened.

“No crying in my hospital room. Get the fuck out.” 

Jean snorted. “Alright, I’m going. Thanks again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just get your ass out the door.”

Jean slipped out, and shut the door quietly. Mikasa had given him Ymir and Christa’s address the night before; the ink in his hand was a bit smudged but he could still make out the string of words and numbers. _Alright._ He had a vague idea of where to go, though he had no idea how to get out of this hospital. The halls no longer seemed to make any sense. Jean frowned. _I came this way, right?_ He walked toward the corner, desperate for anything familiar. 

Instead, he slammed face-first into Petra. 

Both yelped and stumbled backward, stunned. Jean was the first to come to his senses. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Petra only replied with groan. Jean’s eyes were drawn down to a bright orange bottle of pills clutched in the nurse’s fist. She saw where his eyes rested and shoved the bottle into the pocket of her nurse’s uniform. “E-excuse me,” she muttered, and scrambled up, before striding quickly away from him. Jean watched her go, and wondered briefly why a nurse would be so nervious about carrying around a bottle opioids (or so the bottle had read.)

_I should have asked her for directions._

~•~

Marco groaned as he woke. 

Cold air made stiff joints, and he moaned in pain when he stretched out his legs. The fabric of his shirt stuck to his chest; it was slightly damp; with rain or sweat, Marco wasn't sure. His back cracked loudly when he sat up. 

This wasn't his only problem; Marco’s stomach gurgled loudly as he pulled his bag toward him, shuffling through it. He had matches, two apples and five granola bars. He tore the wrapper off of one and bit into it, ignoring the flavor or lack there of. It didn't make him feel any less tired; in fact, his knees buckled when he tried to stand, and he concluded that perhaps he should just sit for a moment. 

In his back pack, there was a faint buzz, and Marco stuffed his hand into the front pocket of his backpack, his hand closing around the cell that Ymir had given to him the day before. The phone said it had 89% of its battery left, which was good. He unlocked it with trembling, numb fingers, and opened the private messaging app that Historia had installed on it the day before. A message had popped up; the contact said it was from someone named Christa. 

**Bott, are you there?**

Marco frowned. **Is this Historia?** He hit send.

The message sent, and then disappeared. 

_Huh?_

The phone buzzed again. **Don’t use my name in this chat. Could lead to investigation.** Marco was still a bit perplexed; how had she made his message disappear? Another message appeared; **I made the app, I can delete any of our messages. It’s a pain tho**

**Right, sorry.** Marco sent back. 

A moment later, a final message popped up. 

**I just needed to know if the app was working. Message me again at the end of the day.**

**Okay.** Marco shut the phone off, and shoved it back into his backpack. He wanted to ask if they’d contacted Jean, but he knew that Historia would have told him if something went wrong. More than that, though, he wanted a hot meal. There had to be a McDonalds somewhere in this stupid town.


	20. Night Section

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean properly meets Ymir and Historia, my favorite crime lord lesbians. They figure out a plan for Jean's faked death. Also, if you haven't read the manga then Historia'a going to seem pretty OOC but I promise she isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeezing this fic for action scenes* please my crops are dying how will I feed my children

The door to Ymir and Historia’s house opened before Jean even had the chance to raise his hand and knock on the door. 

Jean had expected to smell pot. This really did look like the house of a drug dealer; the lower windows were boarded up, and though it was a two story house, the height of the house simply made it seem more likely to tip over. 

Jean also expected to see the tall, boyish girl with the dark eyes when he opened the door. Instead, he was met with the open air. He frowned, before the sound of a slight shifting of fabric made him look downward. 

A small, blonde girl was staring up at him. Her wide blue eyes looked at him placidly. “Ymir, it’s him,” she suddenly called down the hallway. To Jean, she motioned for him to come in, and shut the door quietly behind him. 

Jean found himself in a small room that lead into a long hall. Though the house was dark, the flooring was nice, and the house was clean. It smelled like lemon-scented cleaner. “Take your shoes off, please.”

Jean leaned down to undo his laces. “Are you Historia?” He asked quietly. The girl seemed slightly surprised that Jean knew her name at all, but she nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Jean.” She pronounced it perfectly. There was a low creak at the end of the hallway, and both Jean and Historia glanced up. 

“Hey,” Ymir intoned. Her dark hair had been let down and across her shoulders. Jean stood. 

“Hey.” 

“Come on in,” Ymir said, but as Jean approached, he could see her eyes flitting up and down his body, narrowed and suspicious. “Historia, did you pat him down yet?” 

Jean blinked. _Wait, what?_ “No, you’re generally better at it,” Historia answered evenly. Ymir shrugged and reached toward Jean. 

“Hey, wait just a-” Ymir’s eyes rested on him for a moment. They were completely cold. 

“Get searched or get out of the house.” Her voice was deep and raspy. Jean froze. “That’s what I thought.” She roughly patted down his chest and arms, before plucking his cellphone from his coat pocket. “Hey!” He snatched at it, but Ymir caught his hand with her left hand and twisted it to the side roughly. “Ow, Jesus!” 

“I can't have you taking pictures of the inside of this house. Gotcha?” 

Jean glared at her. “Okay! Just let go of my arm!”

A grin split the side of Ymir’s face. “No, I actually wanna hear you say it. Say ‘gotcha’ and I’ll let you go.”

“Ymir.” Historia’s voice seemed to snap her girlfriend to her senses, and she let go, pouting. Historia took Jean’s phone from Ymir’s hand and slid it into her own back pocket. “If you’d like to follow me to a more secure location, we can talk freely there.” With that, the tiny blonde spun on her heel and began to walk quickly deeper into the house. Jean followed her as closely as he could.

Historia pulled the two into a room, before locking the door behind herself. Jean’s eyes widened as he took the space in. This room was lined from wall to wall with computer screens. He quickly recognized the visuals as the street outside of the house. “Jesus,” he murmured quietly. 

“Jean,” Historia turned back at him, “I assumed there was a reason that you needed to come here and speak with us, and I also assumed that it was delicate enough that you couldn't mention it fully over text.”

“Oh- right.” Jean nodded. “I need to know where Marco is.”

“We can’t tell you that due to confidentiality reasons,” Ymir told him. “Also,” she added, when his eyes narrowed, “we have no idea where he is.” Jean’s heart sank. 

“We have a last-resort way of contacting him, but since I don't know if it can be tracked or not by the government, I can't use it often,” Historia told him softly. “I know this may seem like a lot, but I don't intend to go to prison, and assisting suspects of murder isn't exactly smiled upon.” 

Jean nodded, though his jaw was clenched in frustration. It wasn't fair that these people could talk to Marco when he couldn't. “If I can't talk to him, is there anyway that I could get to him?” 

Ymir shook her head slowly. “Not without your father tracking your ass down.” 

“Is there any way you can think of to make him … not do that?” 

“I dunno. Fake your death?” 

There was that suggestion again. At this point, Jean was almost considering it. He shook the idea from his head. _It’ll never work._ Historia was giving Ymir a sharp look, one Jean couldn't quite read. “What?” 

Ymir shuffled her feet nervously. “Well, there’s-”

“Ymir, don’t.” Historia said it quietly, but there was a certain strain to it that made Jean’s senses hone in on it; she was nervous. 

“What?” He asked again.

“I made a drug,” Ymir blurted before Historia could say anything. “It makes you fall asleep for a few days, and you stop breathing and your heart rate drops to one beat a minute. And then you wake up.”

“It’s never been tested on a human,” Historia said quietly. “The largest thing she could get her hands on was a chicken.”

“But it worked on the chicken,” Ymir argued. 

“How can I get some?” Jean asked quietly. 

Historia stared at him in what seemed to be a mixture of fascination at how ridiculous his statement was and absolute terror. “You’re not _actually_ considering this, are you? You could die if it goes wrong. Or become a vegetable.” 

Jean ignored her. “Ymir.”

Ymir took a deep breath in. Her eyes were like hard chips of stone, carving into him, trying to figure him out. “I’ve got some in the basement,” she said finally. 

“Wait.” Historia held her hand up. Her brow was furrowed. “Listen, Jean, you can do whatever, I don't care, but can we formulate some kind of plan before breaking out the illegal drugs?”

“Yeah, alright,” Jean said. “Let’s say I take the drugs, okay? My family thinks I’m dead.” When Connie died, what had they done? “They’ll put me in the house, where the family can be with me for the night.”

“They won't embalm you?” Historia asked.

Jean shook his head.“They don't believe embalming. It's kind of a scam.”

Ymir nodded, and there was now a gleam in her dark eyes. “We’ll tell Marco to come back, and he’ll probably break into the house to get you. He’ll wait for you to wake up. When you do, you’ll get out.”

“Take a few of the things in the house too, to stage it as a normal robbery,” Historia added quietly. Her head was tilted down, and her thumbs flew across the screen of her cell phone. “Telling him now.” 

**Marco, we need you to come back to Saint Maria. As crazy as it sounds, Jean is staging his death, and we need to collect him from Capulet’s house and then take a few other things to stage a robbery.**

“Where will they put you?” Historia asked. 

“There’s a large room in the middle of the house that they put Connie in; if you go up the stairs, and then go three doors left, you’ll be there.” Historia copied these directions into the message. 

**We’ll be in contact.**

She hit send. 

The lights flickered, and there was a soft hum of the computers as the power went out. 

“What the fuck?” Ymir snapped. Jean swayed, and grabbed onto a wall for support. The room had no windows, and he couldn't see shit. There was a series of light taps across the floor as Historia rushed toward her wall of computer monitors. A light pierced the suffocating blanket of darkness as she turned her cell phone back on. “Backup generators should be up in five, four, three, two, one- “  
Light seemed to surge through the room as the power came back on. Historia was at the computer the moment their screens began to boot back up. The images on them flickered, then settled. Jean leaned over Historia’s shoulder, and felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. 

The yard was crawling with police officers.

_Oh, shit._

Historia turned to Jean. “You ratted us out?” she spat, her eyes ablaze with rage. 

Jean shook his head frantically as the girl stalked toward him. “It wasn't me.” Her hands, in balled fists, curled around the collar of Jean’s shirt. “It wasn't me! Why would _I_ call the police if I’m still inside the building?”

“Historia, we have to evacuate. We can deal with him later.” Ymir’s eyes were wary when they rested on Jean, but then she looked away. “I’m gonna clear out downstairs. Jean comes with me just in case he tries to make a run for it.”

Historia nodded. She was trembling all over. Jean heard her take a shaky breath in before her hands began to whiz across the keyboard in front of her. The screen before them began to shut down as Ymir dragged Jean from the room. 

There was a loud knock on the door. Ymir narrowed her eyes, and made no attempt to back toward the door. Instead, she dragged him through the kitchen. The sound of pounding on the door echoed through the house and Jean cringed as Ymir pulled him through a dark doorway and down a rickety flight of stairs. He sneezed; it smelled like chemicals. 

“Come on. We don't have much time,” Ymir ducked into a small doorway, her fingers slipping from Jean’s wrist. He jerked his head back just in time as the door came slamming back around. Panic rose in Jean’s chest. “Ymir, don't you dare leave me out here,” he hissed to the door. “Ymir!” Upstairs, there was a sickening crack as the front door began to splinter. Jean’s head felt light from adrenaline. _They can’t catch me in here._

The door smacked Jean in the face as it opened. 

He stumbled back, clutching his nose, which had taken most of the blow. “Jesus,” he muttered as Ymir rushed from the room. She grabbed his hands in hers and pressed something into them. Her dark eyes were wide, her breathing ragged. “You take two of these, that should give you about 48 hours.” The door broke, and yells filled the floor above them. The two heard a loud _thunk_ , and a high pitched voice cry out; Historia had been caught. Ymir’s expression twisted into something almost contrite, and for a moment, Jean thought she might cry. But the expression was gone in a fraction of a second. 

She rushed across the room as a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. There was a bookshelf in the corner; she shoved it aside to reveal a trapdoor in the floor. Jean yanked the top up and slid through. 

He landed with a splat. He gasped with pain that shot up his ankles at the impact, and then gagged as rancid air tickled his throat; it smelled awful down here, wherever he was. 

Ymir’s legs dropped down, Jean stepped back, opening his mouth to ask her what was happening. 

A loud shout echoed from above, and suddenly Ymir’s legs began to kick violently.

Jean stumbled back, staring wide-eyed. He heard her yell angrily, and another voice, which was deep and male, yelled with her; Jean assumed she’d hit him in some way. Even so, her thrashing legs were _ascending_ as she was pulled, writhing, from the tunnel entrance. 

_They’ll come down to search this place once Ymir stops blocking the entrance,_ Jean thought, eerily calm all of a sudden. Adrenaline still hummed through his limbs, but the burn of terror in his chest had dispersed. _I’ve got to go._

He spun on his heel and ran. 

~•~

Ymir saw the dim light from the room reflect over the top of Jean’s hair, as he stared at her in shock, and she hooked her toes around the edge of the entrance. The air from the sewer below them had begun to rise up and out, and Ymir found herself coughing violently. It wouldn't be an option to keep struggling much longer if Jean didn't run. 

She glanced down. The tell-tale glimmer of Jean’s hair was gone. 

Ymir stopped struggling and let her body convulse as the stinking air filled her mouth. _It won't matter soon,_ she thought, as the man who’d pulled her up pushed her to the ground and pressed the barrel of his weapon to her head. She laughed quietly as the smell of burning plastic cut through the stench of the sewer. Historia must have flipped the switch upstairs. That would trigger a small gas leak downstairs, that would engulf most of Ymir’s work space before lighting.

All of her work, gone in a matter of minutes. Ymir’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. 

They refilled anyway, since smoke was in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to let them free at some point okay i love Yumikuri with all of my heart I could never keep them behind bars


	21. La Valse D'Amélie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean says good bye.

Jean ran until he saw light above him. 

He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees to give his aching chest a break. He wanted to lean against the wall, but he was pretty sure it was covered in something nasty. It had occurred to him pretty early on that he was literally _in a sewer_ , and what he was running through was _not lovely at all._

The light above him seemed to look down at him questioningly, wondering why he wasn't ascending toward it. Jean’s phone, which had served as a flashlight for most of the run, was dying. He really didn't want to be somewhere in the south side of Saint Maria with a dead phone. 

He quickly angled it at the wall, and spied a ladder leading up. _Thank God,_ he thought, grasping the first rung. Immediately, he recoiled and grimaced; the metal was _slimy,_ he didn't want to know what with. He grabbed the ladder again, and pulled himself up, not letting the loud squelching under his fingers bother him. Besides that, and the quiet rattle of the pills in his pocket, the tunnel was silent. 

When he reached the top, Jean pressed his palm to the grate at the top where the light had come through. It moved slightly, and he pushed it more forcefully, until the there was a big enough space for him to crawl from. 

A few guys huddled around the back entrance to some building turned as he pulled himself from the sewer. He breathed in gratefully; it smelled like vape, but it was preferable to the sewer. He was in an alleyway, he realized quickly. Jean couldn't image how he must look; his hoodie was was streaked with dirt, his hair hadn't been washed. The guys around the entrance glanced away from him without much, their expressions opace. It briefly occurred to Jean that it could be common place that people had evacuated from Ymir and Historia’s house. 

He pulled his hood up and scurried from the alleyway, his head down. 

~•~

Jean’s father wasn't home, and he was able to run up to his room and shower without anyone noticing him. He then changed into something his father would find acceptable, and sat down on his bed. He checked his phone, which he’d charged while in the shower; to his dismay the display said that there was no service. _He’s disabled my plan._

There was loud knock at the door. 

Jean flinched, his phone tumbling from his suddenly-rigid hands. “Yes?” He mumbled loudly, throwing his jacket over the bottle of pills on his bed spread. 

The door door opened to reveal a wide-eyed Sasha. The two stared at each other for a moment. Sasha’s clothes were rumpled, her skin blotchy and pale. Her eyes had deep brown bags under them. Jean knew he probably looked the same. 

“Y-you’ve been gone for almost a day.” 

Jean pursed his lips. “Did you tell my father that I was back when you heard the shower running?”

She shrugged, and mumbled, “I mean, yeah.” Jean grimaced. _That explains the convenient loss of service._

“Alright. That’s … alright.” 

“He’s been,” Sasha glanced around the hall to see if anyone was listening, “ _odd_ since you’ve left.”

Jean felt his heart sink. “Odd like what?”

“Like he’s suppressing a lot of rage, odd.” Jean gritted his teeth. “I’m just saying, be careful.”

“I figured that, Sash-” Jean cut off as the front door slammed closed. A sudden wave of adrenaline hit him, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the sweat gathering on his palms. He wiped them on his jeans. _Ha, Jean’s jeans,_ he thought briefly, but cast his gaze downward as his father reached the top of the stairs. 

“I’ve decided to go with your decision,” he said sharply, before his father could open his mouth. “I’ll marry Annie.” 

He couldn't see his father’s face, but he heard a tiny release of breath. Jean flinched slightly as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. When he looked up, his father was smiling. 

“I’m …” and it almost seemed difficult for him to force out any form of positivity, “I’m proud of you.” 

Jean’s jaw clenched, but his forced himself to smile. “Thank you,” he answered quietly. 

~•~

Jean took his dinner up to his room, and sat on his bed, staring at it. 

_This could be the last thing I ever eat._

He was hopeful about the drug; Ymir and Historia were both ridiculously intelligent; and though he didn't think she necessarily _liked_ him at all, she seemed to have a certain loyalty to Marco, a loyalty that would put poisoning Marco’s boyfriend out of the question. As a matter of fact, most of the Montagues that Jean knew were tied to him in the same way. He thought of Marco, soft-spoken, gentle, warm teddy bear Marco. _Of course everyone loves him, he’s_ Marco, _for fuck’s sake._

~•~

Marco was currently experiencing a blast from the past. 

He’d forgotten about all of the times that he and Mikasa had hidden in the train cars near the outskirts of town. No one in Saint Maria actually knew why there was a train that had never been removed on the tracks; it was simply there, rusting away. When they were younger, Eren and Armin were often away, causing trouble, leaving Mikasa (who hadn't figured out how to track her brother using a GPS yet) and Marco to entertain themselves. They’d found the train on accident, and when it began to rain, they’d scrambled into one of the small cars, not wanting to be caught in the storm. 

A fond memory. 

This train was in much worse condition. The ceiling had a large hole to the left of him, though thankfully, the car was tilted slightly that way and the water draining collected in the corner opposite of him. Marco had built a small fire near the entrance earlier, and his clothes were warm and dry now, but the rain had begun to hit at an angle, and the fire had gone out. His jacket was warm, though, and for the moment, Marco was happy. 

~•~

Jean ate quickly, and became upset when realized that he’d torn through what could possibly be his last meal. Only a few scraps remained in his plate, but he made himself eat those as well. He almost wanted to go fine for dessert, but the thought of running into his father stopped him. 

_How does one live their last day?_ Jean thought, and with that thought, his hands began to shake. He cupped them in each other, but the feeling didn't cease. 

_How likely is it that I won’t wake up?_

He’d give it a 50/50 chance of working. 

And was 50/50 really worth it? 

Jean slipped off of his bed. He combed his hair, and slipped his shirt and pants off, before dressing quickly for bed. He glanced at the clothes and papers scattered across his room, and the urge to clean them up filled him suddenly. He did. 

_I’m never going to see this room again._

Jean walked quickly across the room, and opened the window onto the balcony. The lights of the city illuminated the rain-slick railing, and the pool below. He stared out at the city one more time. _I’m never going to see this view again._

His plate was still resting on his bed spread. Another strange feeling grabbed a hold of him, and, throwing his feelings about his father aside, he scooped up his utensils and exited the room quickly. 

He passed a few servants that asked if they could take the empty dish for him, but he passed them all without a word. He entered the kitchen and placed his dishes by the sink. The cook looked at him in surprise; he ducked out of her view as quickly as he could and headed for the door. 

Jean’s feet were nearly numb as he trod across the cold marble of his home. _Why is this house always so cold?_ he wondered, staring up at the huge white staircase he needed to ascend. He sighed. 

“You always did want an elevator.” 

Jean spun on his heel. His mother offered him a hesitant smile. “Isn't … isn't that right?” 

_I’m never going to see my mom again._

“Yeah. Yeah, I did, Mom,” his voice was low, and it crackled slightly. He swept forward suddenly, and pulled her into an embrace. Jean felt his mother flinch slightly as he held her. “I’m going to bed now,” he croaked. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“G-” he felt her relax, and slowly, her thin arms wrapped about Jean’s waist. “Goodnight, Jean.” 

He pulled away, and dashed up the stairs.

_No time like the present._

He slammed the door to his room, and as he leaned against the door, he locked it with a flick of his finger. Again, adrenaline began to seep into his blood, making his hands tremble. Nevertheless, he made his way across the room on shaky knees, and collapsed onto his bed. He tossed his jacket to the side, and there was a moment of panic as his eyes searched for the bottle of pills on his bedspread. But there it was; it has rolled to the edge of his comforter. Jean scooped it up and screwed the top off. The stale air inside the container smelled like plastic and bleachIng agents. 

Almost transfixed, Jean slowly tilted the bottle, letting two tablets fall into his palm. 

Quickly, he screwed the cap back onto the bottle, and, in a surge, he opened the door to his balcony and let the bottle of pills drop into the bushes below him. If they were found, it would be long after he was gone. He stepped back into the house. 

The two pills in his palm were growing sweaty in his palm. Jean slipped into his bathroom and retrieved a small cup. He filled it to the brim with water. 

He slipped under his covers, and unclenched his hand. 

Shaking, he placed the tablets on his tongue, and brought the cup of water to his lips. 

Jean clenched his eyes closed. 

_Do it._

He couldn't move. 

_**DO IT.** _

He swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all angst from here on our buckle up folks


	22. Another Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is informed of Jean's apparent death and returns to Saint Maria

Mikasa Ackerman liked the Scout. It was cute; the fifties, (though they wouldn't have been a very pleasant time for her, an Asian-American girl) had a nice aesthetic, and the restaurant captured it nicely. Mikasa also liked the restaurant because she didn't really hate Capulets. It was sort of nice to be able to sit about with them, even if the two clans rarely got along.

Today, though, there wasn't a Capulet to be seen. 

She was confused. It wasn't as if there wasn't a lot of people here today; with the absence of Capulets, Montagues filled the restaurant to the brim. She flickered through the crowd, eyes darting about. Could she be mistaken? No, there wasn't a single one in here. It felt strange. 

Mikasa turned on her heel and left.

She arrived home, her thoughts were miles away from the Scout. Eren had just been moved back from the hospital, and he’d wanted a burger, which is why she’d gone out in the first place. She worried, though. What if he’d had a panic attack while she’d been out? 

“Hey, Eren?” There was no response. Mikasa swallowed a lump of terror in her throat. She shifted the burger (which she’d picked up from Five Guys after she’d left the Scout) to her left hand, and opened the door to Eren’s room. 

“Eren?” 

He was sitting on his bed. A large black object dangled loosely from his right hand; it gave a weak crackle and Mikasa’s eyes widened as she realized it was a police radio. “Eren, where the hell did you get that?”

Only then did Eren turn to face Mikasa, his wide green eyes startling her. She couldn't read his expression. 

“Mikasa,” he asked quietly. “Jean’s dead.”

~•~

Marco checked his phone for the tenth time this hour. There were no new messages from Historia. He sighed, and tossed it to the side lightly. He’d run away six days ago, and no one seemed to want to show up to collect him. 

_Maybe something happened to her,_ he thought. He’d sent several messages to Historia, but none of them had been answered. It was strange of her. She was a text-back-immediately kind of girl. _How does this app function?_ he wondered, staring at the service bar in the corner. It operated through a data plan, that was obvious, and he had plenty of bars. Did it message her through a phone number?

He hit her contact in the corner of the message bar and watched it expand. The number wasn't familiar, but it was a number nevertheless. 

Marco hesitated for a moment, but then put in Mikasa’s number. 

Then he deleted it. 

Then he put it in again. 

_By sending anything to her, you incriminate her automatically._

_But I need to know what’s happened to Historia._

He hesitated, then tapped in; **Mikasa, this is Marco.** Before he could tell himself it was a terrible idea again, he hit send.

It was a terrible, terrible idea, he realized as the message went through. _She’ll probably think I’m messing with her and block the number._ Marco groaned. 

His phone buzzed, and his head snapped in the direction of it. 

**Prove it** , read the screen. Marco almost smiled. 

**Your favorite food is lasagna, you’re dating Annie Leonhardt, you track your brother through the city using Find My iPhone, we used to hide in the abandoned trains on the outskirts of town.** He hit send.

A minute went by. 

The phone buzzed again. **Okay,  
it’s you.** He sighed in relief. **Why are you contacting me?**

**Are Ymir and Historia alright? They haven't been replying to me** Marco chewed his lips anxiously, waiting for her to reply.

**Ymir and Historia’s house got raided last night. Someone sold them out.**

Marco blinked hard, and he re-read the text again to make sure he’s gotten it correctly. Ymir and Historia were in jail, then; if the police had gotten downstairs at all, that was certainly where they would stay. The two women had had enough illegal material in their basement to start their own Mafia. **Oh my god, that’s awful. Are they okay?**

Mikasa replied almost immediately. **I think so.**

**Have you heard from Jean?** Marco felt his heart flutter a little. The text was a bit self indulgent; if Jean was doing well, he’d feel much better. 

The phone was a silent for at least two minutes, and Marco stared out at the rain outside in boredom. From the anxious chewing of his lip, he’d uprooted a few small bits of flesh, and he bit at them absently, trying to even out the surface of his inner cheek. 

The phone buzzed, and Marco scooped it up, excited to hear about his boyfriend. 

But the text he received wasn't sweet. 

**Marco, I’m so sorry, but Jean passed away last night. The police are saying he overdosed on something, but the family opted not to have an autopsy, so we don't really know.**

For a moment, Marco couldn't seem to breath. 

He re-read it four times, five. Six. Seven, eight. And all the while, a feeling like ice spread from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his toes. 

When re-reading finally seemed useless, he turned the phone off and slowly set it besides him. The dark train car in front of him seemed to blur and sway, and when Marco blinked slowly, a tear he hadn't realized was there slipped down his face. 

The phone buzzed again. Marco glanced down at it. 

**I’m so sorry that you had to find out in this way. Please don't do anything rash.**

Marco let out a garbled moan and pulled his fists to his eyes another tear welled in his eye and fell. He wiped it with unsteady hands. 

_“I want to be with you.”_ The memory of Jean seemed to whisper it in his ear this time instead of telling him shakily over the phone. Two day ago, he’d told him that, _two days ago._

_What did you mean, Jean?_

A sudden wave of nausea gripped Marco, and he stumbled to the entrance of the crate and heaved until his stomach emptied its few contents onto the ground outside. Marco’s elbows seemed weak under him, and then they collapsed, and he fell forward, his head smacking the bottom of the train car. He tried to pick himself back up, but his arms were trembling; he remained collapsed on the ground. Marco imagined he looked like an overdosed addict, quaking yet unable to move. 

_He said he wanted to be with me._

_What did he mean?_

_I never asked._

A heavy weight seized in Marco’s chest. _I’ll never ask. I’ll never speak with Jean Capulet ever again._ Desperately, Marco tried to summon an image of his boyfriend in his mind, but in his panic, he couldn't concentrate, and all he got was a blurred smile and a wisp of cookie-dough colored hair. 

Marco pulled his jacket around his face and wailed. 

~•~

The Capulet house was cold and dark.

Its halls were barren of life aside from the odd servant, who silently scurried down the hallway, not wanting to disturb anyone in the house. 

If you went to the third floor and walked six doors down, you would find Mrs. Capulet, who had locked herself away after, for the first time in years, she’d become quite loud. Her son’s last words to her seemed to be tattooed onto the inside of her eyelids, and she hadn’t slept since he was found. Tears streams in a heavy, continuous mess down her cheeks, and sound of her chokes and sobs filtered under the door and down the hall. 

If you went ten doors to the left of that, you would find Mr. Capulet, whose room looked as if a hurricane had come through and torn everything from the walls, for Mr. Capulet, in a whirlwind of emotion he hadn't known to define as grief, had knocked over and smashed most of his possessions. He sat at his desk, his hands clenching and unclenching, staring at the wall ahead of him. 

Sasha had stopped crying the day before, and continued her duties about the house in a numb haze. There was a part of her that thought she was to blame for the death of her childhood friend, for she had been the only one who had known about his relationship. Her eyes remained red-rimmed, and the other servants about the house would touch or brush her as she came by, in tiny acts of sympathy which Sasha barely felt. 

The whole house felt numb and unused, like a doll’s house. 

That was, until the second night, when Marco arrived back in Saint Maria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shit short as hell im Fuckin sorry man
> 
> Also next chapter is where everything goes wrong ://


	23. Adagio for Strings, Op. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is my sheath, there rust, and let me die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: detailed descriptions of gore, drug use, mental break, and suicide.

Jean’s window had never looked less inviting. Marco stared up at it. He told himself that he was assessing how he’d get up into the buildings now that the windowsills were slick with rain, but this was not, in fact, true. Marco wasn't even sure why he was here; he simply knew that Jean’s body was here, in this house, and that he wanted to see his boyfriend. 

Slowly, he ascended. 

It wasn't easy to climb. Marco’s muscles had deteriorated from a week of doing close to nothing and eating even less than that. It was strange to think that this climb had been easy for him not long ago; when Marco reached Jean’s balcony, he was out of breath, and his limbs had a deep, angry ache to them. 

He reached for the handle to Jean’s bedroom, and froze. 

There was someone on his bed. 

Marco pressed down, feather light. The door was unlocked. It gave a gentle click as it opened, and Marco slipped inside. The person on the bed didn't move. 

It was a woman, he realized as he moved closer. Her hair had been dyed blonde, but the roots were a deep grey. He twisted to see her face, felt his heart seize a little. Dried tears had settled into the thin wrinkles of her skin, and her fragile arms pulled the sheets of the bed to her face. But it was her facial features that gave it away. _This is Jean’s mother._

Marco pressed his eyes closed for a moment, before slipping from the room. 

The hall was familiar, but nearly unrecognizable to Marco. For a moment, he felt he could almost hear the babbles of the long-dead party echoing through the hall, but the feeling was gone seconds after it began, leaving him alone in the dark. The house was nearly pitch black; none of the antique-looking lamps in the hall had been lit. Perhaps it was tradition, Marco figured, and moved along. 

His hand slid down the dark, wooden banister that lined the hallway to the stairs. 

_Armin sat at the base of these, smirking up at me as Jean dragged me up them._ Marco could almost feel the other boy’s hand clamped around his forearm. 

He descended silently to the second floor. 

The heart of the house; that’s where Mikasa said that Eren had said that the police said he was. Marco had figured that meant the middle room of the middle floor, and as he approached the door that fit that description, he felt certain about it. It was almost as if the air was different, and Marco inhaled, tasting the oxygen in front of the door. It _was_ different; cleaner than the rest of the house. Bleached to fit sanitary standards. Marco figure there were probably heavy regulations around having a dead body in the house. 

The gun on his belt swayed as Marco shifted his hips. 

_Don’t do anything rash,_ Mikasa scolded him quietly. 

Marco traced the handle with his nail, before letting his hand fall to his side. 

He reached forward. His hand gave a small tremor, and Marco sighed, forcing it to be steady. 

The door slid open with the slightest touch. 

Marco’s breath seemed to exit his lungs. 

This is how he knew it was _real,_ not just a fluke. Mikasa wouldn't lie to him, he knew, but this way he _knew_ , he knew Jean was dead because _he could see his ashy-blonde hair poking out from the casket._

Marco wanted to break something. He wanted to scream, to throw a fit. Marco wanted to reach into the casket and shake Jean’s shoulders until his corpse reawakened. He felt _so cold,_ like he’s never been out of warmth before. 

_What did you mean, Jean?_

It wasn't too difficult to approach Jean’s body, but Marco couldn't bring himself to look at him for what seemed like a long, long time. When he finally did, it was eerie. Jean’s face wasn’t pale in death, in fact, he looked healthier than the last time Marco had seen him. Granted, they’d both been in tears then, and Marco had been terrified. 

Jean looked peaceful here. Marco reached out slowly and hesitately touched his lover’s cheek. 

It was icy cold. 

Marco whimpered and covered his face with his hands. 

_What did you mean?_

What _had_ Jean meant? Had he planned his suicide before their last phone call, or had it simply been a sweet detail in his speech to remind Marco that he loved him? Had he actually thought that Marco was prepared to follow Jean in death? He knew him too well to expect that of him, right? 

Right? 

Marco looked down again at the gun hanging from his belt. 

_Is this what you meant?_

No. 

_Yes._

Marco pushed himself away from Jean’s corpse. “This is bad for me,” he whispered. The words bounced around the large room, coming back toward him. 

_”This is bad for me.”_

_”Bad for me.”_

_”Bad for me.”_

With one last look at Jean’s body, Marco moved away. He needed out of this room, out of this house. He needed to think clearly, and he certainly couldn't do that around his dead boyfriend’s body. Whenever he asked himself about suicide being his answer, Jean’s face would bounce back the answer that he dreaded; _Yes._

But Marco didn't want to die. 

_I just want to see Jean again._

He picked up the pace a little. _I’m not thinking clearly. I have to go._

He reached for the handle, and flinched as the door opened. Marco hadn't touched it. There was a loud series of clicks as a gun loaded, and Marco found himself staring directly down its barrel. 

_Oh, no._

“Mr. Montague,” a voice murmured, dangerously low, “I want you to-” 

Marco didn't think, he just ducked. The gun fired, deafening next to his ear, but Marco grabbed the man’s forearms before prying the gun quickly from his finger tips. The man tried to slam him into the wall, but Marco slipped out of the way, letting the man ram himself into the door frame instead. Driven by a sudden wave of absolute disgust, Marco threw the gun across the room, as hard as he could. Without a final glance at the other man, he ran. 

The Montague’s house had slightly opaque glass doors. Through them, Marco could see blue and red lights dancing across the driveway. Loud voices carried through. Marco felt his breath shudder from his chest. 

_If they ever catch me, I’ll be able to explain Connie’s death. I won't get to explain breaking and entering Connie’s dead cousin’s house._ He dashed up the stairs, just as the front doors burst open. A shout carried up behind him, and the clicking of guns loading filled the room once again; Marco’s muscles _screamed_ as he scrambled up the last flight of them. He jumped and slid across the floor as bullets began to rain down behind him. 

_I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die._

He pushed himself back up and sprinted down the hall. His heart hammering wildly, and his sweating palms slipped against the door handle of Jean’s door handle when he tried to twist it open. “Oh, shit,” the handle slipped between Marco’s fingers again. A wave of terrified heat flooded him as the sound of footsteps began to echo down the hall. He grasped at the doorknob again, and this time it turned just enough that he was able to push the door open. The door slammed closed behind him just as a man’s silhouette filled the space outside. Marco slapped the lock on the door shut and then pressed his back against it, breathing hard. 

“H-hello?” 

He flinched. Jean’s mother was sitting straight upright in the bed. Her wide, hazel eyes were so much like Jean’s that Marco wanted to cry. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I-I’m s-s, I’m-m s-orry-” 

“ _What are you doing in my house?_ ” Her voice was shrill and watery.

“I’m so sorry, I’m s-s-” Marco realized with a jolt that tears and snot were streaming down his cheeks. With one last look at her, he dashed from the room, and out onto the balcony. The railing seemed to move toward him at the last moment and Marco double over the edge, eyes taking in a shaken, blurred look at the city before he wrenched his torso back over the rail. What had he seen in that city? What had seemed so alluring to him that night when he and Jean had climbed up here? 

Whatever he’d felt, it was gone.

_I have go. I have to leave._

Marco slung his leg over the balcony. _I have to go._ The other. _I have to-_

The door burst open. 

Jean’s mother shrieked as men began to pour into Jean’s room. Dread dropped deep into Marco’s stomach. He wasn't getting away, not now. Not unless he-

The policemen were shouting to him, he realized, but he couldn't hear that they were saying; his heartbeat was filling his ears, hammering in his head. The concrete of Jean’s backyard almost looked inviting. He’d been lying when he told Jean that he could survive this fall; if he fell head first, it would certainly be the end for him. 

Perhaps this _wasn’t_ what Jean had wanted. But that was okay. 

_I don’t want to go to jail._

_But I don’t want to die!_

Marco’s face scrunched and sobs shook his chest as his hands unclenched from the railing. 

_Jean…_

He leaned backward, and felt a rush of vertigo as the world flipped upside down. 

There was a faint wail from the room that faded away as Marco fell through the air. 

 

_I can’t wait to see you again._

~•~

Jean couldn't feel his leg.

The edges of his coffin seemed to extend up for miles, before retracting at light speed, back toward his face, as if he’d sunk into the ground, and had been pulled back up by some unexplained force. He blinked again; the overhead light startled him in sudden effulgence. 

That was when Jean realized; his head was _pounding._

He whimpered quietly, and found his throat bone dry. Breathing was difficult, and his body trembled all over. Except for his left leg. A shout filled the room, and he winced, clutching his ear. The sound was, though it shouldn't have been sharp, was like a gunshot to Jean. 

He tried to sit up. It worked, but his head swam and the world seemed to tilt until he was certain he was going to fall from the casket. 

The stiff fabric of the suit he was dressed in wouldn't let him move properly. He clawed it from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. 

A sudden wave of nausea clutched Jean and he wretched over the side. Nothing came up except a strand of saliva which splattered onto the floor, next to his jacket. 

That was when he realized; no one was here. The noise was from outside of this room. Marco hadn't come to take him away.

Jean gritted his teeth and hauled himself from the casket. 

His left leg wasn’t working; he’d forgotten. The floor smacked his hip, sending a wave of pain up his side. Jean cried out quietly. _Why can’t I feel my leg?_ he thought, and tapped his knee experimentally. It was cold, and he hardly felt it. He brought his hand down _hard_ , smacking his leg as hard as he could, but this barely had any effect either. 

_Well, fuck._ There was no time to do the Kill Bill thing where the main character stared at her toes until they started working again. Besides, Kill Bill was one of the most unrealistic movies Jean had ever seen. It probably wouldn't work. Jean clambered up on his right leg, before placing a bit of pressure on the left. His balance seemed alright, and so he began to stagger toward the door, his left leg dragging uselessly behind him. 

The world outside of the room was a sea of color that swirled and twisted before Jean’s eyes. 

Red and blue light from outside turned the inside of Jean’s home into a bright violet. The lights weren't bright, but Jean squinted against them. Red and blue. _The cops are here._

_Marco._

Voices from the third floor, so as quietly as he could, Jean slipped down the stairs to the bottom floor. Somewhere in his dehydrated, delirious mind, he’d figured that the best way escape was out the back. That’s how Marco would have done it. 

_Marco. Where is he?_ Jean was certain that Marco wouldn't abandon him. It was possible that the police were here because they’d found him, but Jean found it unlikely. Marco was too cool to get caught. _Marco, my cool cat burglar boyfriend,_ he thought, and almost giggled. Now, if he could only find him. 

The house seemed to pass Jean rather than Jean passing through the house. His thoughts, rather than being actual graspable concepts, would wander through his head, but when Jean really tried to think about something, it seemed to disintegrate, leaving him vacant and frustrated. It was difficult to even remember where he was going; Jean’s focus came and went. When he reached the back door, it took him a moment before he could remember why he was there. 

_If only I could find Marco,_ Jean thought again, dreamily as he staggered out onto the back patio. 

There was a quietly squawk to Jean’s right; he turned. 

A single crow was perched upon a crumpled body that had splayed itself across the concrete. It cocked its head and stared at Jean coldly, beady black eyes taking him in, before it hopped from the belly of the corpse and flew off. Jean, with a rising sense of dread filling his gut, stepped closer, and his heart seemed to stop when he saw the face of corpse. 

_Oh, there he is._

A moment later, the thought seemed like a bad joke, and Jean hated himself for producing it. 

Marco's wide brown eyes were closed, his brow slightly furrowed. His hair looked as if it had been wind blown. A tiny grimace perched on the corners of his lips. 

It got more gruesome from there. Marco’s neck was bent at an unnatural angle. A tiny trickle of blood had seeped from the corner of his lips and rolled down his cheek. Perhaps the worst part was the blood; not the blood on Marco’s cheek, but the blood that had spread out like a deep crimson blanket behind him. There was _so much blood,_ and Jean felt bile rising in his throat. But no, even worse than the blood was the crater in the top of Marco’s head. Fractured prices of his skull, dotted with grey and red, stuck out from his hair. The grey bits were _brains_ , Jean suddenly realized. 

Nothing made sense anymore. 

Black was white. 

Up was down. 

Marco was dead.

 _I’ve died,_ Jean decided, _and this is hell._

Jean crumpled to the ground, covered his face in his hands, and screamed. 

He screamed until his throat felt sore and scratched, until the crow, which had perched on a nearby chair, was startled and flew away. 

Loud, ugly sobs cut his shrieks into pieces, and wouldn't let him breath. 

Jean wanted to touch Marco’s cheek, but when he did so, he found the cheek almost lukewarm to the touch, which made him shriek again and recoil, pulling his arms over his head as if to protect himself. _Only a bit ago, he died only a bit ago, if only I’d taken the pills earlier, woken up quickly, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, **it’s all my fault-**_ “Hey!” Jean looked up. A police officer was staring at him from across the yard, his face white as a sheet. The two stared at each other for a moment. “Aren’t you that Capulet kid?” The police officer stammered, his eyes wide and terrified. Oh, right. I’m supposed to be dead.

Like a spell breaking, Jean began to move. He scrambled backward on instinct and found himself in Marco’s pool of blood. He yelped and fell to the side, catching himself on Marco’s belt. A sleek silver revolver hung from it. 

With only a fraction of a moment’s hesitation, Jean snatched up the gun. He clicked off the safety, and loaded it. 

“Whoa, whoa, easy kid-” Jean sniffled in and pressed the gun to his head. “Whoa! Hey, _don’t-_ ” 

_I will,_ Jean thought, _because this is hell._

_And I want out._

**_BANG._ **


	24. Arrival in Nara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The families try to recover

It had been three days since Marco and Jean had been found dead. Three days since Ymir has broken down in her jail cell, and spilled the whole story to Erwin, who had gone home and consumed a very large amount of alcohol in an attempt to remove the whole story from his head. It had also been three days since Levi Ackerman had left his room. 

Levi felt guilty, but then again, everyone felt guilty. Erwin felt guilty for not finding Marco and bringing him in. Mr. Capulet felt guilty for the rivalry, as did Levi and Hanji. Historia felt guilty for not realizing that her message hadn't gotten to Marco, for the device she’d used had run through wifi, and the wifi had gone out when the power to her house had been cut. Mikasa felt guilty for telling Marco about Jean’s apparent death. Eren felt guilty about telling Jean about Ymir and Historia. Petra felt guilty for giving Eren an alternative medication, which had loosened his tongue. The day she’d medicated Eren had coincidentally been the day she’d been taken off of her opioid medication, and the need for it had been eating at her all day. She hadn't wanted Eren to end up a junkie and because of that, two kids were dead.

Yes, everyone felt guilty. But no one felt worse than the two families. 

The Montague household was quiet and cold on the third day. Levi woke to the muffled sound of crying. For the first time in those three days, he slipped from his bed and shuffled, blurry eyed, toward the source of the noise. It turned out to be Hanji, kneeling at the side of Marco’s bed, her face pressed into it. He hesitated, and then kneeled beside her, his arm looping about her shoulders. Hanji turned. Her flushed cheeks and swollen eyes were an awful sight to take in, and for the second time in three days, Levi allowed his face to lose its composure. The two collapsed in on each other, weeping. 

On the fifth day, both boys were buried; Jean in the morning and Marco in the afternoon. Each family attended each funeral. There was something very humanizing about seeing a family cry over their child, and after the fifth day, Levi and Mr. Capulet found themselves lacking the feeling of anger toward the other that they’d harbored for years. 

On the eighth day, Sasha Barnes opened the door to the Capulet house to find Hanji standing outside, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Levi stood behind her, his hand on the small of her back. “Can I come in?” she asked quietly.

The Capulets greeted the Montagues in the foyer. For a moment, there were no words, but then Hanji cleared her throat and spoke. 

“We’d like to stop fighting.” 

Though both families had been thinking it, the shockingness of Hanji’s statement was still apparent of the Capulets faces. “There’s been too much lost by both of our families. It isn't healthy.”

There was a heavy silence, and then Mrs. Capulet stepped forward. “I agree,” she said in a quiet, yet firm voice. 

Mr. Capulet turned to his wife in mild astonishment. “Since-” his eyes flickered to the other couple. “Since when do you make decisions for this family?” He murmured into her ear. 

“I’m not making a decision. I’m stating my opinion,” she said, coldly. Everyone else in the room blinked; Mrs. Capulet was generally soft spoken. Her eyes were steely now, and unlike the deep closeness between Levi and Hanji, there was a cold divide between the two Capulets. Mr. Capulet cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“We can work out terms of agreement. Sit down, please.”

On the tenth day, Levi cleaned the house for the first time in those ten day because, “God knows it’s getting fucking disgusting.” Hanji came upstairs from her workshop at the end of the day to find her home smelling of lemon-scented cleaner. She almost smiled. 

On the thirteenth day, Levi visited Marco’s grave for the first time. He didn't cry, but he came close. Levi had never been a spiritual man, but he sat and talked by the grave until the sun set down in the sky. He walked all the way home, taking in the almost-dark town, bright with fluorescent lights. He felt slightly numb all over. When he arrived back at home, Hanji, who had been sitting in the living room, nervously bouncing her leg, jolted up. 

“Are you-” 

“I’m sorry-” 

They stared at each other for a moment before Levi realized Hanji had been afraid that he’d gone and died too.

On the fourteenth day, Hanji and Mrs. Capulet ran into each other in town. Mrs. Capulet seemed slightly nervous but Hanji started up conversation and after a while, they walked down the street, chattering to each other. It was a sight to be seen, the two women of _their_ households, in conversation, and Hanji caught at least a dozen people gawking at them as they moved up the street. Neither of them seemed to mind too much. 

Hanji went home feeling better than she had in those fourteen days, but her mood immediately crashed when she came home to the realization that Marco had been dead for exactly two weeks. Two weeks without Marco. 

And in realizing that, Hanji tried to visualize another two weeks without him. She couldn't do it. 

Mr. Capulet hadn't heard his first name spoken in so long that he hardly identified with it. He could still hear Jean’s voice calling him Father sometimes, and the servants of the house referred to him as Mr. Capulet. So on the fifteenth day, when his wife stepped into his study and told him, “Louis, I want a divorce,” it was almost as if she was talking to someone else entirely. 

He stood up, and stared at her incredulously. “You _what?_?” 

“I said,” and she swallowed nervously, but her eyes were clear and sure, “I want. A divorce.” 

On the sixteenth day, Erwin Smith and Petra Ral both had a day off of work and they went to a coffee shop. Petra explained her addiction to Erwin, who listened carefully. Erwin rambled about the inner workings of the Montague-Capulet case, at least, as much as he was allowed to. While Erwin was out of the police station, Ymir and Historia both mysteriously disappeared from their cells. Goodbye notes were slipped under the doors of the Jeagers and the Montagues, but Ymir and Historia were never seen again. 

On the twentieth day, Mrs. Capulet, who now went by her maiden name, Ms. Jules, visited Hanji at her house. Hanji came upstairs to answer the door with grease stains across her cheeks and on her hands. 

“Sorry, are you in the middle of something?” Ms. Jules asked quietly. 

Hanji wiped her cheek, which only resulted in more grease being left there. “No, it’s alright,” she answered. “What’s up?”

Ms. Jules explained the divorce. Hanji controlled her facial features, but her eyes lit up when she heard the news. “Can I say something that might seem impolite?”

Ms. Jules laughed quietly. “Sure.”

“I’m glad. You deserve better.” 

Hanji braced herself for a harsh reply, as her statement had been quite bold. But Ms. Jules simply nodded. “Yes, I know. that’s why I’m divorcing him.” 

This reply fixed a small smile onto Hanji’s mouth. “Would you like to come in?” 

“If it isn't too much trouble.”

The two settled down in the living room, which was small, but homely. Ms. Jules cleared her throat nervously. “Mrs. Montague-” 

“Call me Hanji, please. It sounds so much less stiff.” 

Ms. Jules chuckled. “Hanji, I’d like to be friends.” Hanji blinked. “I think if people who are still loyal to the Capulet name, even though I won't be linked to the family much longer, well, they might become less hostile toward the Montagues if we aren't hostile toward each other. Also,” she stammered as Hanji opened her mouth, “you and Levi seemed like you’d be good friends. I mean, you’re both likeable. In your own ways.” 

“I wouldn't call Levi _likeable_ , per say,” Hanji murmured, “But I’d certainly like to be your friend as well, Ms. Jules.”

“Then you should call me Mary.” Both women smiled weakly. 

After talking for some time, Ms. Jules asked what the grease stains on Hanji’s hands and face were from. Hanji’s eyes lit up a little and she gestured to follow as she slipped down the stairs to the basement. 

Hanji’s workshop was a mess of gears and metal; Ms. Jules’ eyes widened and she held her arms a little closer to her body as she entered the mess. “What…?”

“I disassembled my motorcycle,” Hanji explained. “Now I’m reassembling it.” Ms. Jules was still gaping. Hanji blurted,“It’s something to think about, you know? Or else I guess I’d be thinking about Marco all the time.” 

Ms. Jules and Hanji both flinched suddenly. Neither of them had said the name of either boy in those twenty day. “Sorry,” Hanji murmured. 

On the twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty-third, and twenty-fourth days, Ms. Jules, who both Levi and Hanji knew as Mary now, came over. The three would have dinner, and Hanji would sometimes left her help with the bike. 

“I won't see you for a few days,” Ms. Jules told Hanji on the the twenty-fourth day. “I’ve got a court date tomorrow, and it probably won't be too clean, so I’ll be gone the days after that as well.” She handed Hanji a pipe. 

Hanji took the pipe from her. “Good luck in court. Tear him apart for us.” They both chuckled lowly. There was a long silence. 

“Mary?”

“Mm?”

“Why’d you marry Capulet in the first place?”

Mary paused, thought back. “I think, well, our parents arranged most of it, that was just how it was in rich families. My parents would probably blow their tops if they ever heard that I’m divorcing him, but they’re both dead now.” She gritted her teeth slightly. Arranged marriage and death was a topic that rested a little bit too close to- 

“Why’d you marry Levi?”

“‘Cause I figured I probably couldn't live without him,” Hanji answered without hesitation. 

Another pause, in which Hanji fixed tinkered with the engine. Ms. Jules watch her, a question resting on the tip of her tongue. 

“Hey, Hanji.”

“Mm?”

“Do you think we’ll ever stop hurting over this?”

Hanji turned to the other woman. Ms. Mary Jules was quite honest about what she was thinking, and Hanji liked that. An honest woman deserved an honest answer. 

“No. But I don't think we’re supposed to.” 

Ms. Jules nodded. Perhaps neither of them deserved to stop hurting; after all, it was their rivalry that had made everything fall apart. Perhaps even as dementia-ridden old women, they would still feel deep ache of guilt in their stomachs, reminding them of the mistakes they’d made. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

_No, we’ll never stop hurting._ Hanji was shuffling through a collection of bolts. _But perhaps…_

“Pass me a wrench?” 

“Sure.” 

_Perhaps we’ll eventually be able to put ourselves back together._ That was hope, and for the first time in those twenty-four days, Ms. Jules and Hanji felt happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it folks  
> If you stayed till the end, thank you so much! This was absolutely exhausting to write but I'm happy if y'all enjoyed it. Stay tuned for more gross bullshit, I've started a Yuri!!! On ice cop AU SO if that sounds fun, I'LOL be up soon. Thank you for the comments, the few that I got were unbelievably sweet. See y'all later.
> 
> -Mae


End file.
